


The Wolven Brood

by Copper_Vixen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copper_Vixen/pseuds/Copper_Vixen
Summary: An act of kindness changes Harry's circumstances, leaving him shunned by those he once considered friends.  Now, when the most unlikely group offers him friendship, he must choose between continued solitude or hands that may be hiding knives.





	1. The Fateful Day

 

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Chapter One - The Fateful Day**

It all began one cold December day in Scotland. It was a Saturday, to be exact. And the beginning of a Hogsmeade weekend for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For most, the two days would be completely uneventful. Nothing beyond the usual would occur. They would visit the same shops they always did, spend their allowances on the same inane things they normally did, and then they would return to the castle toting bags of goodies but otherwise penniless. 

However, for Harry Potter, that Saturday would be a day he remembered for the rest of his life . . . 

XxXxX 

Snow swept across the hardened ground and hammered against the cloaked forms trekking toward Hogsmeade. The wind shrieked angrily between the naked trees, tugging at colourful scarves and tangling heavy robes about numb legs. Patches of ice hidden beneath the snow made the path treacherous, but still the students of Hogwarts continued on, undeterred by the elements that seemed wholly riveted on keeping them from their destination. 

Fingers buried in the folds of his heaviest winter cloak, Harry Potter shivered and lengthened his stride. His change of pace immediately incited cries from the two people trailing him, making him smile and look over his shoulder. “We’re almost there.” He called with a laugh, burying his hands deeper into the voluminous cloth of the dark cloak. 

Lifting her chin from the protective warmth of her red and gold scarf, Hermione Granger shot the raven-haired wizard a baleful glare. “I could be back at Hogwarts curled up with a book right now,” she grumbled, hooking her arm through Ron’s and pressing closer to him. “Next to the fireplace in the Common Room. In my warmest pajamas. With a mug of hot cocoa.” Teeth nearly chattering, she focused her gaze on the village visible in the distance. Smoke curled from the chimneys in a tantalizing portrayal of the warmth waiting within the small shops, the sight making her shudder in relief. 

Lightly laughing at the witch’s response, Harry spun around and began to walk backwards. “Are you telling me you’ve already finished your shopping?” He asked, grinning as Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head. The wicked wind sent his cloak billowing out before him and flipped his hood over his head, the fabric momentarily blinding him. 

“Of course,” Hermione answered primly. She sniffed delicately at the scoffing noises the pair made, swatting Ron’s arm gently even as a small smile curved her lips. “The two of you shouldn’t leave everything to the last-” 

“Harry!” Ron yelped suddenly, a finger jabbing at the ground directly behind the other wizard. He winced as the raven-haired male caught the heel of his boot on a chunk of ice pushing through the snow and stumbled, his arms swinging frantically in a vain attempt to recover his balance. 

Unable to regain his equilibrium, Harry toppled backwards. The air left his lungs in a loud whoosh as he slammed into the ground, the back of his head connecting with the well-packed snow. Groaning, he lay sprawled on the ground staring up at the gray sky, blinking at the white and black stars dancing across the expanse. “Thanks, Ron,” he finally managed to wheeze, his vision clearing enough for him to see Hermione and Ron peering down at him in apparent concern. Cringing at the pain that radiated from the bump growing on the back of his head, he accepted the redhead’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“You should really be more careful,” Hermione muttered, probing the back of his head roughly. With a small wag of her head, she turned the dark-haired wizard in the direction of Hogsmeade and gave him a light push. “You have a good sized bump,” she added, shooing Ron ahead of her with her free hand. 

Biting his lip, Harry lifted a hand to touch the growing welt, jumping slightly when Hermione slapped his searching fingers away. “Your concern for my well being brings tears to my eyes,” he mumbled dryly, hobbling due to the ache spreading over his bruised rump. Gritting his teeth, he slipped his hands into his pockets and shouldered the bushy-haired witch’s helpful hand away, fighting down the urge to rub his bum soothingly. Instead, he drew a deep breath and focused his orbs on the much appreciated sight of Hogsmeade, a happy smile sliding across his face as he peered down the bustling street that curved through the small village. 

He absolutely adored the Holidays. Not because of the gifts or the time off from classes, but because of the atmosphere the entire season imbued. Everyone was happy; for the entire month of December everybody seemed to forget their worries and cares and focus on their friends and families. Which was exactly what Harry planned on doing. He was going to spend every minute he could with Remus and the entire Weasley clan at Grimmauld Place; Hermione was scheduled to join them the day after Christmas, which meant he and Ron could put off doing their holiday schoolwork until she arrived. 

“Let’s go to the Three Broomsticks and get warm before we split up to do our shopping,” Hermione suggested, giving Harry one last light push. She slipped her hands into her pockets as they joined the harried crowd rushing down the main path, nodding politely to several fifth year Gryffindors. 

“I could use a Butterbeer,” Ron mused, elbowing Harry to get his attention. He arched his eyebrows when the raven-haired wizard jumped and turned to look at them with wide eyes. “Three Broomsticks. Butterbeer. Unthaw,” he said, shaking his head in bemusement when understanding flickered across Harry’s face. 

“Sure,” Harry replied with an apologetic wag of his head. He gestured the pair ahead of him, scanning the busy street for familiar faces. A passing wizard bumped into him, elbowing him aside roughly and hurrying down the path. Teeth clenched at the wizard’s rudeness, he turned his head and watched him through narrowed eyes, frowning as the tall male left a trail of disgruntled shoppers in his wake. His lack of focus caused him to walk into Ron and almost tip over backwards, only the redhead’s quick hands keeping him from once again landing on his backside. 

“You’re really out of it today,” Ron said, steadying the dark-haired wizard with a hand on his shoulder. 

With a shrug, Harry said, “Christmas.” He ignored the furrowing of the redhead’s brow, stepping quickly past him into the Three Broomsticks and scanning the crowded tables. A wide grin crossed his face when he saw Dean, Neville, and Seamus at a nearby booth, the three Gryffindor sixth year’s in deep discussion. 

Laughing softly as Neville noticed him and gave an excited wave, he lifted a hand in greeting and directed Ron and Hermione toward the trio. They would most likely be here a while, he thought wryly, watching as the pair join the small group. With an inaudible sigh, he wove his way through the crowd and ordered three Butterbeers from the bartender, glancing around the busy room as he waited. The place was packed with students and villagers, some he recognized and others he didn’t. As his gaze slid across the farthest shadowy corner he stiffened, his body tensing as he found himself being regarded by two tall wizards. His mouth went dry as he stared into a pair of crystalline eyes, the hair on the back of his neck rising. The tall stranger blinked and turned his pale orbs back to his companion, ending the unintentional staring match and leaving Harry suddenly afraid. 

With a sharp shake of his head, Harry slapped several coins on the bar and gathered up the three Butterbeers, quickly heading toward the booth of Gryffindors. Placing the drinks carefully on the table, he shot one last unobtrusive glance at the two strange wizards, goosebumps racing up his arms as he once again found himself being watched by the taller of the pair. He jerked his head back around, meeting Hermione’s worried gaze with arched brows and a small smile. Squeezing onto the bench next to Ron, he wrapped his fingers around his bottle and attempted to appear interested in the current debate over Ravenclaw’s chances of beating Slytherin in the next Quidditch match. 

XxXxX 

Standing alone in front of Zonko’s Wizarding Joke Shop clutching bags from various stores, Harry tried to ignore the eerie feeling that he was being watched. Still, without being too obvious about it, he scanned the crowd streaming past him, glad the harsh winds had died down and the sun had slid from behind the clouds. He relaxed when he found himself being ignored for the most part; only the odd passerby casting him a curious look as they went about their business. Shuffling his feet in the snow, he searched for Hermione and Ron, wondering how much longer they’d be then smiling at past memories of shopping with the pair. 

A low cry of pain drew him from his thoughts, turning his blank gaze from the shop window to the steady flow of witches and wizards hustling down the street. Frowning, he tipped his head, looking for the individual who had cried out among the crowd. His hands tightened around the handles of the bags he carried as he drifted down the path, his head snapping around as a child’s voice rose up in a pained plea for attention. Worrying his bottom lip, he halted at the base of a narrow alley that ran between two shops, his brow drawing down as he surveyed the heavy shadows. 

“Hello?” He called softly, ignoring the raised eyebrows and appraising looks several passing witches cast at him. Shifting his bags around, he pulled his wand from his pocket and glanced over his shoulder before taking a cautious step into the alley. His second step was just as slow as the first, his feet feeling almost leaden as he moved deeper into the shadows. A pained whimper had him gliding forward, ignoring his body’s silent warning to turn around and run. “Is anyone there?” 

“Who are you?” A frightened voice demanded, drawing his gaze to where a small form huddled in the snow. Muscles tensing in preparation for an attack, Harry murmured lumos, and felt his eyes widen in shock at what the soft glow revealed. 

“I want my mummy!” Sobbed the small boy, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees as he glared at Harry through shimmering hazel orbs. Sniffling loudly, he swiped at his nose with one gloved hand, watching the older wizard approach nervously. His bottom lip quivered noticeably and his cheeks were streaked with tears. 

Smiling encouragingly, Harry slowly dropped to his knees next to the little boy. “I’m Harry Potter,” he said softly, offering the child his hand in greeting. He watched quietly as his hand was stared at distrustfully, wiggling his toes in his boots as a chill began to seep through his heavy woolen socks. 

Hazel eyes widening, the little boy blinked and offered the older wizard a tentative smile. “Harry Potter?” He repeated in amazement, reaching out and grasping the dark-haired male’s proffered hand. 

Harry laughed and gently shook the small gloved hand. “The one and only,” he said in amusement, emerald orbs twinkling. Letting go of the boy’s hand, he sat back on his heels and looked around for some clue as why the child was sitting alone in the dark alley. “Did you get separated from your parents?” He asked, rising to his feet and brushing the snow off the knees of his pants, sparing one second to wince as the bruise on his bottom twinged. 

“Maybe,” the boy mumbled, climbing to his feet and staring down at the toes of his boots. His bottom lip began to tremble again and he scuffed unhappily at the snow. 

“Well,” Harry said, grinning at the little wizard’s reply, “Perhaps I can help you find them.” Offering the child a look of understanding, he bent over slightly and swiped at the snow clinging to the back of the toddler’s robes. “What’s your mum’s name?” He asked as he straightened. 

Snuffling, the boy peered up at Harry through his dark lashes. “Mummy stayed home today,” he said in a whisper. 

Harry rolled his eyes and gathered his bags into his left hand. Sliding his wand away, he held his right hand out and wiggled his fingers as he waited for them to be taken. “Okay, what’s your father’s name?” He queried, attempting to slowly lead the boy back toward the main path. 

“My dad’s name is Fenrir,” the little boy announced, reaching out and grasping Harry’s fingers. A strange gleam appeared in his reddish-brown sphere's and he swiped his tongue over his lips, smiling at Harry’s soft gasp of disbelief. 

Emerald eyes widening as he stared down at the little wizard, Harry felt a shiver run up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Swallowing audibly, he glanced at the small hand that had locked around three of his fingers, feeling their grip tighten as he tried to pull gently away. “Pardon?” He whispered, creeping back a step and halting when he found the child’s grip unbreakable. 

No longer appearing the least bit afraid, the young boy smiled and repeated, “Fenrir.” 

Before Harry had a chance to realize what was happening, the boy struck. The movement was as quick as the strike of a snake, dainty fangs sinking into the fleshy part of his thumb while he watched on in stunned silence. At the burst of pain, he gasped and tore his hand away, cradling the bleeding appendage to his chest. He stared down in disbelief, eyes widening as small droplets of blood rose to pool in the little holes carved into the side of his thumb. 

The small boy looked up at Harry and smiled sweetly, flashing sharp incisors that would have been more at home in the mouth of a fox. Hazel orbs sparkling, he began to back away from the gaping wizard. “Father sends his regards and says he’ll be seeing you soon,” he breathed ominously, his lips curling as he gave a childish giggle. With a wiggle of his fingers, he darted past Harry and vanished down the path, disappearing among the villagers and students. 

Unable to exactly comprehend what had just occurred, Harry staggered after the boy, stumbling out of the alley and into the middle of the street. He searched almost frantically for some sight of the child, stiffening when he saw the pair of wizards from The Three Broomsticks heading down the road away from him. Walking between them, and chattering merrily as he clutched their hands, was the hazel-eyed terror. Mouth hanging open, Harry stiffened as the shorter of the two glanced back at him and smiled maliciously, dipping his chin briefly in recognition. 

“Harry! Where have you been? Ron and I have been looking everywhere for you.” Hermione hissed unhappily as she appeared at his elbow. She huffed as he turned wide eyes in her direction, giving a toss of her head to further indicate her current state of displeasure. “You said you’d meet us in front of Zonko’s at one o’clock, remember?” 

Blinking dazedly at the witch, Harry bobbed his head slowly, his gaze unconsciously drifting back down the path the strange trio had taken. “I got distracted,” he mumbled in leu of an apology. His eyes dropped absently to the hand he’d tucked protectively against his chest, his brow furrowing as he noted that the shallow puncture marks had stopped bleeding. Fingers curling, he lifted his chin and found himself peering into Hermione’s narrowed eyes. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione demanded, inching closer and grabbing his wrist gently. She frowned at his pained cringe, her gaze falling to the hand he had tucked tightly against his chest. With a light touch, she tugged his arm away from his body, her orbs widening at the blood staining his pale skin. “What happened?” She exclaimed, pressing her thumb firmly into the center of his palm so he couldn’t close his hand. 

Futilely attempting to pull away from the bushy-haired witch, Harry stiffened, his mind quickly assembling and discarding several credible lies. Finally, after several long seconds, he decided to go with the truth - albeit the very carefully edited version. “I got bit,” he mumbled, allowing his face to redden in embarrassment. His orbs flicked up to the witch’s face, triumph surging through him at the look of disbelief that crossed her features before vanishing behind a mask of surprised concern. 

“You should know better than to pet strange dogs, Harry.” Hermione chided, examining the neat teeth marks with a practiced eye. She released his hand after assuring herself that the injury was minor, giving a small shake of her head as she stared at raven-haired wizard’s red face. “Make sure you show that to Madame Pomfrey when we get back to the castle. It could easily become infected.” After issuing her opinion in the form of friendly advice, she grabbed hold of his sleeve and began to tow him in the general direction of Zonko’s, scanning the crowd for Ron. 

“I will,” Harry said, glancing around before jamming his bloody hand into his pocket. It was a lie, of course. He had no intention of showing anyone that bite mark, especially not someone who might recognize it for what it was. Because what it was was a life sentence. There was no cure, either muggle or magical, for the disease he’d just been given. For what he was about to become. And what Harry now was . . . was fucked. Completely, and utterly, fucked. 

“Fucked with a capital F,” he mumbled beneath his breath, stumbling along behind Hermione. Giving a small shake of his head, he turned his attention to keeping up with the witch, knowing that there would be plenty of time to contemplate this latest little quandary in the days to come. 

XxXxX 

Unfortunately, reality came crashing home sooner than Harry had originally anticipated. 

It was the night before the day they were to depart for the Christmas Holidays, and like the previous five nights, Harry woke in the early morning panting and scrabbling at his sheets. Mouth dry and heart pounding, he sat up in his four-poster clutching his blankets, a cold sweat clinging to his shaking body. His fingers tightened on the warm flannel as he gazed about the circular dorm room in growing dread. He could see. Perfectly. And in the dark to boot. 

With a soft moan of despair, he flopped back down onto his mattress, releasing the sheets and tangling his fingers in his hair. He was doomed. Remus was going to kill him, slowly. Heaving a deep sigh, he rolled over onto his stomach and rested his chin on his forearm, his eyes immediately seeking out the marks on the side of his right hand. However, after a mere six days, the bite wound was gone. In fact, every minor injury he’d received during the last week had healed unnaturally fast. 

At any other time, enhanced sight and super speedy healing would be viewed as a definite benefit. Unfortunately, this particular package included a three night all memories lost romp through the wilds of Scotland on four legs - for every full moon for the rest of his life. Because at this point in time, Harry figured it was safe to admit the worst. 

He, Harry James Potter, was now, and forever, a Werewolf. And in this particular club, membership was permanent. 

With a frustrated groan, he rolled over onto his back and glared at the canopy of his bed, lifting his hands to tug uselessly at his shaggy hair. Now that he was one hundred per cent positive he’d been given the W virus, or was at least ready to admit it, he had to decide whether or not he should tell Ron and Hermione. Generally, he wouldn’t have given the matter a second thought; he would have gone ahead and told the pair right away. However, there was a part of him that wanted to keep this little secret to himself. He deserved to have at least one, after all. 

Since he’d been introduced to the wizarding world, his life had become fodder for the masses. Every move he made was critiqued. Each achievement and failure broadcast to the public. Merlin, his life was about as private as a phone booth on the corner of a busy street. 

Giving up on attempting to sleep, Harry slid from his bed and slipped silently across the room. He left the dorm and drifted down to the Common Room, his feet carrying him to the extra large sofa resting before the fireplace. Swatting an oversized pillow out of his way, he flopped down and stretched his arms across the top of the scarlet couch, absently crossing his ankles as he stared at the embers glowing in the hearth. His change of location did nothing to deter his brain from working the twisted puzzle. Almost immediately, his thoughts returned to the problem at hand: to tell Hermione and Ron or not to tell Hermione and Ron? 

He could already imagine the reactions of the pair, and neither one would be good. Ron would react like he always did. He’d throw a tantrum and act as if Harry had deliberately gone and shoved his arm into the jaws of a werewolf. Typical redhead behaviour, Harry mused, sinking deeper into the cushions at the mere thought of having to deal with Ron’s jealousy issues, again. Hermione, on the other hand, would be as cool headed as always. She’d make a list of pros and cons and then give him her opinion on the entire matter. She would also be extremely disappointed in his failure to inform Dumbledore directly after the incident had occurred. And three weeks later everything would be back to normal, mostly. 

Yet there was one little flaw in his master plan that he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. One tiny weeny problem. That problem was the fact that he’d be forced to change on the next full moon. How exactly did one explain the sudden acquirement of fur and fangs to their friends? Hell, he’d run out of bandages pretending that the bite mark on his hand still existed. Now, with his suddenly improved eyesight, keeping this little matter a secret seemed an impossibility. 

Beneath all the worries of telling his friends he’d been bitten by a werewolf was another, much larger concern. And that was that werewolves weren’t allowed at Hogwarts, reminding him that he had nowhere else to go. It was that thought that frightened him the most. Hogwarts was the only home he’d ever really known. Without it, he’d be lost. 

Giving a shudder at the thought, he rose fluidly and slunk up the stairs. There was nothing he could do now. He would just have to sit back and hope for the best, but he would prepare for the worst. Because he was Harry Potter, and nothing was ever easy for him. 

XxXxX 

An excited yelp had Harry rising from a restless sleep, his eyes flying open as he sat up quickly and searched the chamber for the source of the disturbance. The sight of Seamus bouncing up and down on Dean’s bed while merrily swatting the other wizard with a pillow had him groaning softly and flopping backwards amidst his blankets. He settled an arm across his eyes and clenched his teeth as Dean let out a war whoop, the sound nearly causing him to reach for his wand. The whistle of displaced air had him extending an arm, his fingers closing and locking in the fabric of Neville’s pillowcase. With little effort, he tore the pillow away from the other wizard’s lax grip, tossing it in the general direction of Seamus and Dean. 

“Get up, Harry!” Seamus yelled playfully, leaping from Dean’s bed to the dark-haired Gryffindor’s. He only got in one quick bounce before his legs were swept out from beneath him, the sheer speed of the movement startling him into releasing a piercing shriek. His girlish cry was cut short when he dropped down next to Harry, the other wizard’s hand slapping across his open mouth. 

Slitting one eye, Harry glared at Dean in warning before carefully removing his hand. “I am up,” he stated quietly. His seemingly bad mood brought an end to the fun and laughter, the rest of the group falling silent and shooting nervous glances at each other. 

“Right,” Seamus mumbled finally, rolling off Harry’s bed and to his feet. He ruffled his hair as he backed away from the other wizard, avoiding the narrowed emeralds following his every move. “Well, ah, I’m going to get ready for breakfast.” After announcing his intentions to the entire room, he shot off in the direction of the bathroom like a hex from a wand, slowing only to grab the clothes draped across his trunk. Dean and Neville were hot on his heels. 

Sighing, Harry rolled over and buried his head under his pillow. He really hadn’t meant to snap at Seamus. Then again, he’d only managed to get a couple hours of sleep and was fully entitled to being grumpy after receiving such a rude awakening. A light thump had him pulling his pillow aside and slitting one eye, glaring at the redhead standing showered and dressed beside his bed. 

“Rough night?” Ron asked, amusement clear in his tone. The grin he wore grew as Harry snarled softly, the sound drawing a chuckle from him. With a shake of his head, he turned away from the dark-haired wizard and moved toward his packed trunk, placing his bathroom kit and pajamas atop the abused wood. “You’d better get up before Hermione comes up here and rolls your lazy arse out of bed. Merlin forbid we not be the first ones aboard the Hogwarts Express.” 

Groaning, Harry sat up and rubbed his face tiredly. “Time?” He croaked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and tentatively searching the cold floor for his slippers. Barely restraining another groan, he rose unsteadily and snagged the clothes lying across the end of his bed, beginning a slow walk in the direction of the adjoining bathroom. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth when the bathroom door flew open before him, spilling steam, Seamus, Dean, and Neville into the circular dorm room. 

“A little after eight. If you shower quickly you’ll have time for breakfast,” the redhead called across the chamber. He hunched his shoulders when the bathroom door slammed closed behind the other wizard, the loud thud actually rattling the thin glass within the window panes. “Definitely not a morning person,” he grumbled, hefting his trunk and exiting the room in the wake of Seamus and Dean. 

Anxiously pacing the Common Room, Hermione shot an annoyed look at the clock hanging above the hearth, her frown growing. Raucous laughter turned her head toward the stairwell, a sigh of relief slipping over her lips at the sight of Ron descending the stairs, packed trunk in arms. “I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes,” she informed the redhead, glancing over his shoulder in search of Harry. When she realized the dark-haired wizard was nowhere to be seen, she huffed in exasperation and marched toward the stairs, fully set on retrieving him. Her forward advance was halted when Ron shifted to block her path, shaking his head in warning. 

“He’ll be down in just a minute,” he said loudly. After a quick scan of the room, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “The last few nights have been kinda rough.” The implication was clear enough to widen Hermione’s eyes. 

With the slightest dip of her chin, Hermione forced a smile to her lips. “I swear the pair of you would sleep all day if you could,” she said loudly, rolling her eyes as she whirled around and stalked to the nearest couch. Perching herself gracefully on the edge of a scarlet cushion, she focused her eyes on the stairwell, her fingers beginning a rhythmic tap on the arm of the sofa. 

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Harry appeared on the stairs. Hermione watched him descend slowly, his trunk rattling down the stairs behind him, each jarring thud echoed by the barely perceptible tightening of his lips Dark circles were visible beneath his weary eyes. Eyes that were unshielded by the glasses he should have been wearing. Fluidly rising, the witch stalked to the bottom of the stairwell and halted, her eyes locked on the dark-haired wizard. “Where are your glasses?” She asked, folding her arms at her waist. 

Harry continued his descent, not deeming to answer the question. He circled around the witch when he reached the base of the stairs, making a beeline for the back of the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Do we have time for breakfast?” As he’d known it would, the question distracted Hermione completely. 

Brow drawing down, Hermione glanced at Ron and sighed at the eager smile he wore. “Yes, we have time for breakfast,” she muttered, flicking her eyes toward the ceiling in annoyance. That small moment of hesitation gave the wizard enough time to escape the Common Room, forcing her and Ron to chase after him. 

By the time the pair arrived in the Great Hall, Harry was already seated at the Gryffindor table with a plate of food before him and mouth full of food. 

“You could have waited for us,” scolded Hermione, flopping onto the bench across from the raven-haired male and frowning at his lack of manners. 

Emerald orbs lifting, Harry arched a single brow and licked the tines of his fork clean. “I could have,” he agreed quietly, reaching for his apple juice. He took a long swig, his eyes sweeping the Great Hall over the rim of the glass. He paused in mid sip when he found himself being watched closely by Draco Malfoy, the blond’s gaze seeming almost predatory. 

The Slytherin had had a growth spurt over the summer break; his current height placing him amongst the tallest in their year. Somehow, he had retained both his lithe frame and catlike grace, though Harry was certain he’d also put on a fair amount of muscle. Fingers tightening on his cup, the dark-haired wizard leaned forward slightly, his body tensing in preparation. For what seemed like minutes, the pair remained focused completely on each other, their gazes locked and their bodies held as if ready to spring. It was Hermione’s voice that broke the staring match, turning his head just in time to watch Ron’s fork sink into the last sausage on his plate. Like lightning, his fork sank into the meat, pinning it to the plate as a warning growl trembled upon his lips. 

“I asked twice,” Ron mumbled sullenly, withdrawing the gold utensil. 

Realizing what he’d just done, Harry released the fork and shoved the plate toward Ron. “You can have it,” he said, rising jerkily to his feet. He grabbed his glass of juice and downed the remnants before reaching for his small carry on bag, his trunk having been deposited in the main foyer with the rest of the student’s luggage. “I’m going to go and get us a good compartment on the Hogwart’s Express.” Not giving the pair a chance to answer, he fled the hall, daring only a quick glance over his left shoulder. That look was enough to confirm Malfoy was still watching him intently, those pale silver eyes narrowed in thought. Teeth grit, Harry stormed away from the Great Hall and joined a pack of Ravenclaws climbing into a waiting sleigh. Managing a polite nod, he curled up in a corner and prayed he’d be able to get a minute of peace when he boarded the train. 

XxXxX 

“My older brother’s bringing one of his school chums home-” 

“Anything from the trolley?” 

“Snap!” 

“Did you see Malfoy’s hair?” 

“I got my sister the most ador-” 

“Boot’s a dickless bastard!” 

“Can you believe how much homework-” 

“Are you alright, Harry?” 

Hermione. Inhaling deeply, Harry lowered his chin and opened his eyes, meeting the witch’s curious gaze with glazed emeralds. “Just a headache,” he answered quietly. He forced an apologetic smile to his dry lips, fighting down the nausea that threatened to spill his breakfast across the toes of their boots. His hands balled into fists, his nails biting into the skin of his palms. Why did everyone have to be so loud? Couldn’t they all just sit quietly and enjoy the scenery flashing past the wide windows of the Hogwarts Express? 

He let out a pained gasp as the third year witch in the compartment next to theirs shrieked gleefully, the sound bringing his hands to his ears. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the stabbing pain to fade before drawing a deep breath. Bile began to build threateningly at the back of his throat. 

Quite against his will, he was privy to every whispered word, every hushed conversation. Each bout of explosive laughter made his eardrums ring and his eyes water. Compartment doors opened and closed throughout the car, each squeak and slam feeling like a direct kick to his balls. The constant clatter of metal against metal caused his head to twinge dangerously. And amongst all those piercing sounds was the everyday run of the mill chatter; the gossip and excited talk about Christmas presents and visiting family. 

A particularly piercing screech had him clapping a hand over his mouth and rocketing to his feet: he was going to be sick. Ignoring Hermione’s anxious demands, he fumbled at the compartment’s door, his fingers scrabbling almost uselessly at the latch. Finally, after several precious seconds, the door slid open and he staggered into the narrow corridor. With a hand still clamped over his mouth and his gut churning, he staggered toward the closest loo, bursting through the door and slamming it closed recklessly behind him. He made it into the first of the two stalls just as he lost the battle to keep his breakfast. 

Head hanging over the porcelain bowl, he threw up repeatedly until he had nothing left to lose. With his forearms resting on the rim, he hung his head and spat lingering bile into the murky water. Heaving a soft sigh, he rested his forehead against the cool porcelain, enjoying the peace that filled the small room. At last he was alone, and seemingly beyond the reach of the dozens of voices that constantly rose and fell throughout the car. His brow furrowed at a light scratching upon the door, his sensitive nose picking up the smell of Hermione’s favoured perfume before she whispered his name loudly. 

“Harry? Are you alright?” The witch hissed, pushing the door open slightly and attempting to peer into the small bathroom. 

Harry sighed and shook his head, internally wondering when exactly he’d lost all rights to privacy. “I’m fine, Hermione,” he called hoarsely, swiping the sleeve of his sweater across his mouth. He dropped his head back against the divider between the stalls and closed his eyes, listening to the witch fidget outside the door. Frankly, he was surprised she hadn’t just burst into the room demanding to know what was going on. Clasping his hands around his bent knees, he bumped his head lightly against the barrier between the stalls, attempting to calm the rolling of his stomach. Another light knock preceded Hermione’s worried voice, the sound causing him to grit his teeth in annoyance. “What?” He snapped, his fingers tightening around his knees until his knuckles whitened. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Hermione called, sounding slightly offended as she shoved the door open a little further. She leaned into the loo and glanced around suspiciously before allowing her gaze to rest on Harry’s form huddled behind the closed door of the first stall. Rolling his eyes, Harry released his right knee and scrubbed his fingers across his forehead, his mind searching for some task that would take Hermione elsewhere and keep her occupied for a decent length of time. After a moment’s hesitation, and the resumption of the pounding behind his temples, he came up with the perfect mission. “Can you see if someone has a pain potion for this headache? I think that would really help.” He grinned at the witch’s harried ‘yes’, once again closing his eyes as the door snicked shut and Hermione took off in search of the requested potion. 

His much enjoyed peace lasted no longer than five minutes. With a taunting squeak, the door swung open, the sound drawing an inaudible groan from him. He should have known Hermione wouldn’t take that long. Opening his eyes, he dropped his hands to the floor and began to lever himself upward, stiffening when the lock on the main door snicked into place. “Hermione?” He called, his ears picking up the stealthy tread of boots gliding across the floor. His muscles tensed as the sink spluttered on, the sound of splashing water concealing the movements of the individual moving about outside the stall door. Trepidation growing, he slowly slid the lock of the stall door aside and raised his eyes to the narrow mirror hanging over the sink as he pulled the door open. 

“Traveling first class, Potty?” Draco Malfoy purred, meeting Harry’s wide emeralds in the mirror. He couldn’t help but chuckle evilly as the raven-haired wizard gaped at him in surprise. Still holding the Gryffindor’s gaze, he negligently turned the running water off and grabbed one of the towels folded neatly beside the sink, shifting so he faced Potter as he began to carefully dry his damp hands. 

Mouth snapping closed, Harry glared at the Slytherin. He stepped out of the stall slowly and cast a quick glance around the small room, finding himself uncharacteristically worried over the possibility of being cornered. “Shouldn’t you be in the luggage car with the rest of the baggage, Malfoy?” He responded snidely, his gaze returning to the other wizard in time to see anger flood across the blond’s aristocratic features. 

“Feeling a tad bit cranky, are we?” Draco snapped cooly, tossing the balled up towel in the general direction of the waste basket. He straightened in a hiss of expensive black silk, staring down at the dark-haired wizard from his superior height. “Does the Weasel know he’s being cuckolded?” 

Harry was almost thrown by the seemingly innocent insult, but the gleam in the blond’s pale eyes gave him away. “Hermione’s my friend,” he snarled, frightened by the intense urge he had to start growling like a rabid dog. Swallowing heavily, he took a shuffling step toward the door, deciding that in his current condition fighting either magically or physically with Malfoy should be avoided at all costs. His cautious retreat was halted by the Slytherin’s next drawled comment. 

“Yes, I believe that’s referred to as a ‘friend-with-benefits’,” Draco murmured softly, “Still, I suppose the Weasel must be quite proud to have the honour of sharing his girlfriend with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Why, he must be incredibly proud to be able to enjoy the pleasure of your leftovers-” 

Harry had no memory of how Malfoy’s lapels ended up bunched within his hands, only that when he snapped out of his blinding rage he was growling unsteadily and had the blond pinned up against the sink. Inhaling sharply, he moved to release the blond, only then realizing that the other wizard was making no effort to free himself. In fact, not only was Malfoy not reaching for his wand or trying to shove his fist into Harry’s bared teeth, but he wore a look of amused delight upon his face. “Shut it, Malfoy,” the dark-haired wizard said hoarsely, unnerved by the Slytherin’s strange behaviour. Giving the blond one last push, he released him and whirled around, taking two quick steps to the door of the loo and wrenching the lock open. He fought down the urge to glance over his shoulder and instead yanked the door closed behind him, wheeling in the direction of the compartment he shared with Hermione and Ron. 

His hands were balled into fists and he had to concentrate on unclenching them, drawing deep breaths as he attempted to slow the pounding of his heart. Mindlessly, he navigated the narrow corridor, nodding to several witches and wizards as he passed the open doors of their compartments. It was only when he was dropping back onto the bench across from Ron’s slumbering form that he realized his headache was gone and his stomach had stopped roiling. He actually felt rather good, like he was coming down from some drug induced high. 

“It’s just adrenaline,” he attempted to reassure himself. However, the look Malfoy had worn was terribly unsettling. Other than that look, though, the blond had been his usual charming self - all silver tongued insults wrapped within the visage of some elven prince. By the time Hermione came rushing into the compartment wearing a look of concern and clutching a potion vial, he had himself completely convinced that the small grin Malfoy had worn had been a trick of the light. In fact, Malfoy had been so frightened for his life that he’d been rendered both speechless and motionless. Yep, Harry thought, reaching for the vial Hermione offered him, he was definitely the man. Or would that be Wolfman? With a mischievous grin, he tossed back the contents of the vial and swung his legs up onto the bench, deciding to ponder the question while he took a quick nap. 

XxXxX 

ms


	2. A Grimmauld Place Christmas

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling. 

**Chapter Two - A Grimmauld Place Christmas**

The ruthless shriek of the train’s whistle had Harry jerking upwards, his bleary gaze darting to the window beside him. A relieved sigh slipped between his lips as he collapsed back onto the bench and closed his eyes, lifting a hand to scrub indelicately at his face. He was somewhat surprised to realize they had already reached their destination; the familiar platform of 9 3/4 bustling beyond the thin glass. A soft thump had his eyes snapping open and his head turning toward the bench opposite him, his tensed muscles relaxing as Hermione offered him an apologetic smile. 

“How’s your head?” The witch whispered quietly, shrugging Ron’s head from her shoulder without sparing him a glance. She rose from the bench and reached for the bags stowed in the overhead racking, tugging down her small book bag and blue winter coat. 

Harry pondered the question a moment before grinning in relief, the pounding in his head having vanished while he slept. “Much better, thanks,” he said, swinging his feet to the floor and standing. He rolled his shoulders slowly, ridding himself of the kinks in his muscles as he stretched his arms above his head, fingers splayed. 

“You’re welcome,” Hermione murmured, offering him a pleased smile. The grin fell from her features as she studied his bare face, internally wondering over the absence of his always present spectacles. “Would you like me to fix your glasses now?” 

Harry froze at the unexpected question, his mind stumbling over itself to create a credible lie quickly. “I forgot them,” he said in a rush, lowering his arms and offering the witch a lame smile. “I set them on my desk and forgot to grab them on my way out of the dorm. Breakfast,” he mumbled with an apologetic shrug of shoulders, knowing the poor excuse would be believable coming from either him or Ron. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, shrugging into her coat. Her gaze landed on Ron’s slumbering form as she turned to grab her bag, her lips compressing into a firm line that expressed her displeasure over the redhead’s current state. “Get up, Ron!” She snapped loudly, giving the wizard a whack on the side of the head. 

Eyes flying open, Ron practically leapt to his feet, his head swinging from side to side as he scanned the compartment in search of his mother. “Merlin, Hermione,” he grumbled after a moment, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, “You sounded exactly like my Mum.” The mumbled complaint earned him a hard frown and a contemptuous snort from the bushy-haired witch. 

Harry grinned at the byplay between the pair, shaking his head even as he snagged the carry-on bag that held the school robes he’d been wearing earlier and an assortment of activities meant to entertain him for the duration of the train ride. He tugged on his heavy winter cloak, knowing he’d have no need for a normal coat like Hermione who’d be returning home with her muggle parents. “Come on you two, everyone’s waiting for us.” Giving Ron a playful shove, he grabbed Hermione’s hand and tugged her out of the compartment, joining the steady flow of students streaming excitedly off the Hogwarts Express. His eyes swept over the large group of parents eagerly waiting on the platform, scanning the faces in search of Remus’. 

“There.” Hermione’s hand shot over his shoulder, one finger leveled at the wizard standing quietly in the center of a group of cheerfully calling parents. The witch squeezed his arm tightly, a brilliant smile curving her lips as she waved happily at her own parents. 

Feeling her excitement, the dark-haired wizard waved merrily at his father’s old friend. “Remus!” Harry called happily, jumping over the last step and landing lightly on the platform at King’s Cross. He flew the short distance into the older wizard’s arms, giving him an exuberant hug. The smile he wore died as Remus gave him an absent pat on the back and then set him quickly aside. “Remus?” He repeated softly, his brow furrowing in worry. 

“Do you have all your bags, Harry?” Remus asked quietly, his gaze darting anxiously about the busy platform. His thin frame seemed to vibrate with barely restrained tension as students continued to disembark, the small area quickly becoming overcrowded. “And Hedwig?” He asked in a much louder voice, settling a firm hand on the dark-haired teen’s shoulder and pulling him protectively closer. 

Exchanging a quick glance with Hermione, Harry nodded in response to Remus’s question and hefted Hedwig’s cage, bringing the flustered owl to the other wizard’s attention. “My trunk’s in-” His mouth snapped closed as he was hurriedly herded away from the train, only managing a quick wave of his fingers at Hermione before the crowd closed in around her. With an irritated sigh, he allowed himself to be shepherded through the maze of witches and wizards, mumbling insincere apologies as Hedwig’s cage swung along in his wake. “Slow down, Remus,” he complained finally, attempting to shrug away from the taller man’s guiding hand. 

“Not now, Harry.” Remus said, ignoring the younger wizard’s attempts to slip out of his grasp. He tightened his fingers on Harry’s shoulder, his wary gaze darting left and right. They halted when the reached the edge of the crowd, Remus retaining his hold on Harry as he searched for the rest of the retrieval party. He frowned when Tonks appeared suddenly before them, her mauve eyes wide and her wand held against her side. As she opened her mouth, he frantically shook his head, tipping his chin at Harry and widening his eyes in warning. 

Tonks, in turn, rolled her unnaturally coloured orbs. “A word, if you would, Remus,” she muttered dryly, giving a wave of her wand at a spot a few meters away. 

“Wait here,” Remus ordered Harry, grabbing Tonks by the arm and beginning to haul her to the indicated spot. “And don’t move!” He frowned when the younger wizard rolled his eyes and turned away, demonstrating his obvious displeasure with the command. 

Shaking his head in disgust, Harry set Hedwig’s cage at his feet and crossed his arms. He idly scanned the mass of witches and wizards, shamelessly eavesdropping on the closest conversations. It was a soft whisper, though, that caught his attention. His head tipped in response as he tried to recapture the quiet murmur. When it came again, he tensed, his gaze narrowing. Someone was saying his name, repeating it over and over again in a steady litany. 

Slowly, he lifted his chin, his emerald orbs sweeping the crowd, meticulously searching for the source of the sound. His entire body stiffened when he located the individual who had emitted the noise. Watching him through smirking silver eyes, Draco Malfoy smiled, his lips barely parting as he repeated his almost inaudible whisper. Harry Potter. 

It was what the blond next breathed that caused Harry to suck in a sharp breath and take an unsteady step backward. Smirking secretively, Draco Malfoy stared straight into his narrowed eyes and whispered, “Werewolf.” 

That whisper raised Harry’s hackles. He scanned the crowd quickly, attempting to determine whether or not anyone else had heard the damning accusation. A relieved sigh slid from his mouth when he found the students and their parents oblivious to the soft hiss. His blazing eyes snapped back to the blond, his lips curling in a feral snarl. Against his will, he took a threatening step forward, delighting in the sudden flash of wariness that crept into the other wizard’s orbs. He was so pleased by the reaction he’d garnered that he took another step forward, a slightly louder growl rumbling in his chest. 

Rather than retreat, Malfoy smiled widely. 

The challenge was impossible to pass up. With fists clenched, Harry began a predatory march forward, his full attention locked on his target. Something inside him seemed to stir, testing its boundaries as he closed the distance between himself and the blond. He was brought to an abrupt halt when a hand closed around his upper arm, the tight grip nearly swinging him around. 

“Harry, I thought I told you not to move,” Remus chided, shaking his head and beginning to drag the younger wizard towards the nearest exit. He frowned as Harry fought his hold, glancing quickly about in search of danger while tightening his grip. 

Barely suppressing a snarl, Harry tried to wiggle away from Remus, his gaze returning to the spot Malfoy had occupied only seconds ago. He stopped struggling when he found the blond gone, his brow furrowing at the speed with which the Slytherin had managed to vanish. His anger dissipated with the blond’s disappearance. “I was looking for Ron,” he mumbled, slapping at the hand locked around his bicep. 

“Arthur already picked him and Ginny up,” Remus replied, pulling a folded newspaper from a pocket of the dark brown jacket he wore and offering an end to Harry. He impatiently waited for it to be taken, his gaze sweeping the surrounding area until the dark-haired teen huffed unhappily and grabbed the paper. Giving one final look around the platform, he murmured, “Castle,” and closed his eyes as they were whisked off to Grimmauld Place. 

XxXxX 

It took Harry a mere six hours in Grimmauld Place to realize that keeping his secret in a house occupied by another werewolf was going to be a major problem. While he was still learning how to filter scents and smells, to determine what everything his nose told him meant, Remus had had years of experience. He found himself cringing every time the older male passed by him, silently praying that Remus would remain oblivious to the change in his scent. The presence of the Weasley family brought him some measure of relief; each member of the redheaded clan adding to the various smells wafting through the large house 

In addition to avoiding Remus, he had taken to wearing copious amounts of cologne in hopes of disguising his changed scent. It was definitely not a perfect solution to the problem of keeping his secret, and he’d almost reached his breaking point when he’d sat down for breakfast between Fred and George and the pair had eased their chairs away from him. Still, there were times when Remus would stiffen and inhale deeply, a frown marring his tired features. 

Unfortunately, his luck ran out after dinner on Christmas Eve. 

Eyes glazed as he stared out the window above the kitchen sink, Harry allowed a faint smile to curve his lips; dinner had been perfect. Setting the plate he had been washing in the rack at his elbow, he reached for the next dish, tossing a curious glance over his shoulder as the kitchen door creaked open. 

Unease crept through him at the sight of Remus, the older wizard’s features drawn and wary as he slowly approached Harry. He stiffened when Remus halted within touching distance, his hands froze on the plate he’d been washing, his shoulders hunching as the older wizard leaned closer and snuffled loudly at the nape of his neck. He swallowed heavily as dread rose within his belly, his fingers clutching desperately at the ragged dishcloth he held. “Remus?” He whispered pathetically, cringing away from the other wizard. 

A keening howl of outrage shattered the silence of Grimmauld Place. Immediately in the wake of the belling wail came startled cries and the pounding of feet, the occupants of the house dashing worriedly in the direction of the sound. 

Placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Remus spun the young wizard around, staring down into frightened emerald orbs. “What have you done?” He hissed in a scandalized voice. His eyes were wide, the amber glowing with a feral light as he gave Harry a rough shake. 

“What have I done?” Harry repeated through numb lips. He stared at Remus dumbly, not knowing how to respond to the accusation. Rage welled within him suddenly, fisting his hands and drawing a savage snarl from his mouth. He was dimly aware of the kitchen door swinging open. Of the faces staring at him in surprise as he lifted his hands and shoved Remus forcefully away from him. “What have I done!” A fierce growl spilled over his teeth, the sound earning him a whimper from one of the Weasley’s clustered against the far wall. 

Rather than cower and admit he’d made a mistake, Harry squared his shoulders and stood his ground, his eyes darting back and forth between the Weasleys and Remus. As far as he was concerned, the blame for his current condition lay solely on the shoulders of the little brat who’d bitten him. And when he found said brat, he’d put him over his knee and tan his arse. 

“What’s going on?” Arthur demanded, placing himself bravely in front of his family. He clutched his wand as twin pairs of shining orbs turned in his direction, the combined glare causing him to take an unconscious step backwards. 

Remus lifted an arm and indicated Harry with a small flutter of his hand. “He’s a werewolf.” 

“That’s absurd,” Molly huffed, attempting to push past her husband’s arm. 

Remus gave a harsh laugh, his slitted eyes sliding back to Harry. “I can smell it in him,” he spat, inhaling deeply in demonstration. Nostrils pinching in distaste, he glared at the young wizard for a moment before whirling around and stalking the length of the narrow kitchen, halting on the far side of the table. He dragged shaking fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. 

Glancing nervously back and forth between the pair, Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “Surely you’re mistaken, Remus.” 

“Yeah,” Ron scoffed from behind his mother, “I think I would have noticed if my best mate was a werewolf.” His confidant statement fell short as he glanced at Harry, noticing the guilty gleam in the twin emeralds. “Harry?” 

“I was going to tell you,” Harry mumbled softly. Gasps and dismayed mumbles filled the room, all eyes turning to stare at the raven-haired wizard in disbelief. Unable to take the full weight of their displeasure, he turned back to the sink, staring down into the soapy water. His shoulders tensed as he prepared for the imminent explosion, his hands closing around the edge of the counter. 

“When?” Remus bellowed from across the kitchen, slamming his hands down on the ancient kitchen table. “After you’d bitten someone?” 

Harry spun around at the angered accusation, two short strides bringing him to the table directly across from Remus. “This is not my fault!” He screamed, slamming a balled hand into the top of the heavy kitchen table. He almost winced as the wood cracked beneath his fist, almost. Gritting his teeth, he drew a deep breath and glanced around the room at his rapt audience. The frightened expressions on their faces sent satisfaction rippling through him. For once, they were listening to him. Slowly, he lifted his hand and uncurled his fingers, noting the already healing scrapes on the side of his fist. “It’s not my fault,” he repeated, “I didn’t ask for this.” 

“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Weasley murmured, her voice tinged with pity. She watched him sadly from behind Arthur, no longer attempting to push past his restraining arm. Instead, she had sidled in front of Ron and Ginny, putting herself protectively in front of her younger children. “Of course you didn’t ask for it, nobody ever does.” Although sympathy rang true in her voice, she had drawn her wand from the folds of her apron. 

Ignoring Molly, Remus pounded a hand on the table, turning Harry’s head back in his direction. “Is this because of Sirius?” He demanded in a near shout, his eyes blazing as he leaned across the table. 

At the mention of his deceased Godfather’s name, Harry’s lips curled, an inhuman growl trickling over his lips. The tight leash he’d kept on his temper and tongue snapped, allowing him to lean forward and reply in a sarcastic purr. “Yes, Remus, this is because of Sirius. Everything I do is because of Sirius. In fact, I'd planned on honouring his memory by pouring Veritaserum in the Slytherins’ morning punch, but this was just so much more convenient. Do you think he’d approve?” 

Remus released a roar of fury and lunged across the table, his hands wildly grabbing for Harry. Harry, after knocking a kitchen chair out of his way, leapt atop the table and into Remus’ waving arms. Considering its age and the recent bout of abuse it had taken, the ancient table didn’t stand a chance of withstanding the combined weight of two wizards. With a weak creak, it broke, spilling the tussling pair to the ground where they continued to roll around. The Weasley clan watched on in mute fascination, unsure of how best to intervene. 

Despite the hands wrapped tightly around his throat, Harry focused on repeatedly punching Remus wherever he could, slowing only when stars began to dance before his eyes and his chest began to burn from lack of oxygen. Teeth grit, he struggled against the older wizard’s hold, his hands lifting to scrabble desperately at the fingers encircling his neck. Seconds before darkness could descend completely, they were interrupted. 

“As entertaining as this is, may I ask what’s going on here?” The drawled question had everyone looking toward the back door, and the individual standing just inside it. Dark brows arching questioningly, Severus Snape stepped further into the kitchen, his obsidian eyes sweeping the chamber with disinterest. He shifted his gaze from the destroyed table to Remus and Harry, his brow furrowing as the older wizard thrust the younger ruthlessly away from him. 

Rising slowly to his feet, Remus leaned heavily against the fridge, blood dribbling down his chin. “He’s been bitten,” he spat in disgust, raising a hand to swipe at the blood dripping from his nose. For a moment he stared down at Harry’s still form, his lips tightening noticeably before he turned and limped from the room. Silence followed his departure. 

Harry lay still upon the floor, his eyes on the ceiling above him. His lids sunk down slowly, his hands curling into tight balls. Drawing a sharp breath, he rolled slowly to his side, beginning a painful climb to his feet. He was aware of everyone watching him, could smell the fear hovering in the air above the group. With one last effort he straightened, his chin lifting as he swept the group with orbs that shimmered dangerously. 

“I think it’s time for bed,” Molly whispered loudly, her eyes darting about the kitchen. She swallowed nervously at Harry’s tense form, dragging Ginny and Ron closer until their faces were practically pressed into her bosom. Forcing a smile to her lips, she nodded in greeting at Severus and then began to sidestep toward the door, pulling her children along with her. The panel swung open before she could reach it, halting her retreat. 

Blazing eyes scanning the kitchen, Remus stepped further into the room, the door swinging closed behind him. “Dumbledore will be here in the morning,” he announced, lowering the cloth he’d been holding against his nose. He glanced at the stained fabric before tossing it onto the counter, his gaze shifting to Severus. “Will you be spending the night? Because I think Dumbledore will-” 

“The children were just going up to bed,” Molly interrupted him in a shrill voice, her arms tightening around Ron and Ginny. She shot a pleading look at Remus, begging him to understand as she continued to sidle toward the door. 

Expression grim, Remus dipped his chin in agreement, his amber eyes finally slipping to Harry. “I imagine tomorrow will be an early morning for everyone. To bed, all of you,” he ordered briskly. His eyes remained locked on Harry as he awaited the impending explosion, his shoulders tensing as the younger male opened his mouth. “Now.” He inwardly cringed at the snarl of defiance the command garnered him from the dark-haired wizard, but outwardly he remained completely unmoved. 

“Ron, take Ginny upstairs,” Molly murmured, her gaze darting back and forth between Remus and Harry. Her voice grew sharp as she quickly ushered her youngest children safely from the room, ignoring their whined complaints. 

“I’m not tired,” Harry growled, stepping free of the broken table and turning to face Remus. He put his back against the counter and crossed his arms, his movements slow and smooth to avoid jarring his bruised neck. The corners of his lips drew upward in a smug smirk as he surveyed the older male, taking pride and pleasure over the considerable amount of damage he’d done. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he lifted his chin, awaiting Remus’ next move. 

Jaw clenched, Remus considered his options, debating the wisdom of challenging the younger wizard. After the short but brutal altercation that had occurred only moments ago, he assumed it was safe to say that Harry was almost as physically strong as him. Perhaps, given time and experience, the dark-haired male would even be able to defeat him. Fortunately for him, Harry was currently unaware of that fact. “Then why don’t you go up to your room and work on your holiday assignments.” 

“I don’t-” 

“Potter, I suggest you go up to your room,” Snape drawled, tapping his wand lightly against his velvet covered arm. His brow lifted slowly as the younger wizard glanced around the kitchen, internally hoping the Gryffindor would attempt something stupid. 

Realizing the pair were more than he could handle, Harry snarled in frustration and whirled around, stalking angrily from the room. He slammed the kitchen door behind him, the sharp crack echoing through the house. Teeth grit, he stormed through the lower level of Grimmauld Place, his ears picking up the hushed whispers from above. Placing one hand on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, he began to stomp up the narrow steps. His angry strides faltered when he gained the second floor, his eyes narrowing on the trunk resting against the wall opposite the room he and Ron had been sharing. 

Fingers curling, he prowled forward, his eyes narrowing. With no more than a quick glance, he identified the trunk as his own. A snarl of fury flew from his mouth as he spun to face the door, one hand reaching out to grab the doorknob. He wrenched furiously on the brass knob, unwilling to believe Ron had actually locked him out of his own room. 

“Ron!” He yelled, pounding a balled hand against the door. His sensitive ears picked up the wizard’s squeak of fear, his nose confirming the redhead’s current state of terror. A spasm of delight shot through him at the alluring scent, tightening his hand around the doorknob. 

“Go away, Harry.” Ron’s voice was nothing more than a terrified whimper. 

Harry smiled at the redhead’s refusal. “It’s my room, too,” he reminded the other wizard, crushing the doorknob with a light flex of his fingers. Pressing his hand against the wood, he attempted to push the panel open, his brow furrowing when the door refused to budge. He jerked roughly on the handle, rattling the door in its frame and causing the hinges to groan. “Open the door!” 

“No.” Ron called from within the chamber, his voice sounding distant. 

A wild snarl was ripped free of Harry’s throat at the redhead’s adamant refusal. Without thinking, he slammed a fist into the thick wooden door, his mouth dropping open in surprise when his hand went straight through the oak. From inside the chamber, Ron screeched in fear, the sound stabbing at his sensitive ears. Deciding the other wizard deserved a little pain for his rude behaviour, the raven-haired wizard drew back his hand and dragged his fingers down the door, shredding the wood as if it were paper. 

“Harry, back away from the door.” 

Stilling, Harry tipped his head, glancing at the small group that had gathered meters away at the top of the stairs. One dark brow arched, his fingers absently digging through the wood as he considered the assembled Order members. Even while he stared at them, the thing inside his head began to plot, carefully planning the order in which he’d destroy each of them, creating the quickest way to act without getting injured severely. 

“Petrificus Totalus,” Snape drawled with a flick of his wand. The spell froze Harry, allowing the group to creep cautiously closer. 

“That was uncalled for, Snape,” Remus muttered, placing a hand on the side of the younger wizard’s face. He inhaled sharply at the fire blazing within the emerald sphere's, withdrawing his hand and taking a step backward. “Now what do we do with him?” 

A malicious smirk gracing his face, Severus glared down at Harry’s stiff form. “I have an idea,” he purred, rolling his wand between his fingers. Giving another wave his wand, he levitated the Gryffindor’s body into the air and led the way down the hall, an almost jaunty skip in his step. 

XxXxX 

The attic. They’d actually had the audacity to toss him, Harry James Potter - Saviour of the Wizarding World - into the attic. Granted, it was probably one of the nicest attics he’d ever been in. There was a fine network of cobwebs in the rafters and a thick film of dust upon the floor. Abandoned nick-knacks, unwanted furniture, and broken toys filled the space. In Harry’s opinion, they probably could have found some where a lot worse to house him until Dumbledore arrived. 

Harry lay still upon the floor of the attic room, curling and uncurling his fingers as he slowly regained his mobility. The last of the spells disintegrated, leaving him sprawled on the cold wooden boards, nursing countless bruises and scratches. With a muffled curse, he heaved himself into a sitting position, his eyes sweeping the cluttered room. 

They’d actually tossed him in the attic . . . he’d just become the Order’s dirty little secret. Despite everything that had occurred within the last thirty minutes, he felt strangely relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from hin shoulders. 

Rubbing his sore jaw, he rose and limped toward the only source of light in the room; a narrow window almost hidden behind a pile of broken furniture. His enhanced sight allowed him to see everything the darkness should have hidden, revealing Grimmauld Place’s secrets to his glowing eyes. He carelessly shoved a broken armoire aside, knocking over a still ticking grandfather clock in the process. Ignoring the clatter and the crunch of broken glass, he placed a hand on the window and attempted to wipe the glass free of grime. Nose crinkling as he only managed to smear the dirt around, he flipped the lock and swung the window open. His eyes drifted shut at the first rush of cool air. He had only a moment to enjoy the sensation before a familiar sound forced him to abandon the position. Stepping back, he allowed the unfamiliar owl access to room, silently pondering its business with him. 

Opening one eye, he stared at the nondescript barn owl perched on an old brass footboard, its amber eyes hooded. “Hello,” he murmured in greeting, swivelling to face the bird. Under his gaze, the owl hooted nervously, shifting on its perch. After a moment’s hesitation, he prowled toward the bird, extending a hand to grasp the note and package it carried. As soon as both items were firmly within his grasp, the owl launched itself into the air and flew out the window, leaving only a single brown feather to mark its passage. 

Arching a brow in surprise, Harry unfolded the piece of parchment, his second brow rising as he read the teal script. 

Merry Christmas Harry, 

It’s only a matter of time before they slip one of these ‘round your neck. When you’re tired of playing lapdog, come and see me. FG 

Expression darkening, he dropped the letter and tore the wrapping off the package, his lip curling in disgust at what he had revealed. Snarling in outrage, he hurled the offensive gift across the room and whirled around, not bothering to watch the simple leather collar strike the far wall and fall to lay among the attic’s rubble. 

XxXxX 

Amidst the swaying branches of naked oaks and beneath a crescent moon, two individuals met. They exchanged neither pleasantries nor greetings, merely eyed each other as the snow swirled down around them. The icy silence was broken by the wail of a wolf, the sound tipping both their heads in the direction of the lonely hail. 

“Well?” The taller demanded of the smaller, shifting restlessly in his boots. His pale blue eyes remained locked on his companion, his patience thinning as the other male shuffled nervously. A threatening growl vibrated his chest and peeled his lips back from glistening teeth. 

Raising stormy gray spheres, the shorter male gave the slightest inclination of his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Yes.” He stated simply, tensing at the bark of laughter that escaped his companion. With nary a wave or word of farewell, he spun on his heel and followed the path he’d taken earlier, the relief he felt at completing his task nearly overwhelming him, because this changed everything. The Wizarding World had just been dealt a terrible blow and they remained unaware of it. But they would know . . . it was only a matter of time 


	3. Dumbledore and Christmas Dinner

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling. 

**Chapter Three – Dumbledore and Christmas Dinner**

After spending a restless night in the room directly below the eaves, Harry could attest, with one hundred per cent certainty, that there was no Santa Claus. At least not in the wizarding world, anyway. Stifling a yawn, he glanced at the closed window, attempting to gauge the time by the amount of light passing through the dirty glass. Though the grime coating the panes was thick, his eyes were easily able to detect the first rays of light brightening the sky. It was Christmas morning, and he was still locked in the attic. 

Three stories below his two star accommodations, Grimmauld Place began to stir; the first whisper of voices reaching his ears. He stretched slowly as pipes groaned, water gushed, and feet pounded down the stairs, the clamor increasing to a point where further sleep would prove impossible. With a heavy groan, he flopped onto his stomach, the springs of the narrow cot he was sprawled upon creaking in protest. 

Knowing he would be unable to fall back asleep didn’t prevent him from closing his eyes and snuggling back down on the incredibly uncomfortable mattress, his ears absently tuning in to the mindless chatter rising from the kitchen. Almost against his will, he began to identify the various voices, taking an internal attendance of the individuals currently residing in the large house. Molly, Arthur, Fred and George, Ron, Ginny, Snape, Tonks, Remus, Shacklebolt, Moody, and Dumbledore. The last was enough to open his eyes, bringing him completely awake. 

Harry tipped his head to the left, his brow furrowing as he tried to interpret the soft mumbles drifting up through the floorboards. Even with his enhanced hearing, the conversation occurring within the kitchen remained to indistinct to be of any interest. Oh, he was able to make out the odd snippet here and there, but nothing of any real consequence. With a dissatisfied grunt, he dropped his chin back to his forearm, his eyes drifting closed. 

Although nothing but the odd mumble reached his ears, he became extremely aware of the moment silence fell over Grimmauld Place. It was a deep, heavy silence. An unnatural silence. A silence that could never be achieved in a house like Grimmauld Place without some form of aid. 

Emerald orbs flying open, he rolled over and sat up, a worried frown riding his features. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he focused all his senses on the lower level of the house, and found nothing. Beyond the attic, there was no sign of life. Not a whisper nor a bout of raucous laughter rose from below. And there was only one thing that had the power to render complete silence upon Grimmauld Place. 

Magic. 

Someone was using magic to render his senses null; making sure that he couldn’t possibly hear the conversation occurring downstairs. Which could only mean one thing: they were discussing him. A growl was torn from his mouth, his hands fisting as he leapt up off the cot and thumped angrily down the narrow stairs to the locked door that was all that contained him. He wrenched on the knob, punching the wood ruthlessly when he found the lock still engaged. 

“Remus!” He yelled loudly, aiming a savage kick at the door. He inwardly fumed as he glared at the portal, his knuckles whitening. When no response was forthcoming, he turned around and stomped back up the stairs, beginning an angry prowl back and forth across the dusty boards. Last night’s confrontation was still fresh in his mind, but it had obviously already been forgotten by everyone else. Lips curling in a silent snarl, he swung around and stalked in the opposite direction, gliding quietly through the dark. His churning thoughts slowed when his gaze landed on the small attic window, his pacing coming to an abrupt halt. 

Doing something overly dramatic and dangerous was the farthest thing from his mind, however, desperate times called for desperate measures. Pursing his lips, he walked slowly toward the window, the heels of his boots ringing ominously upon the floor. He chewed his bottom lip as he considered the grimy panes of glass. Sure, taking a swan dive out a fourth story window didn’t exactly seem like the greatest escape plan he could possibly devise. In fact, he was pretty sure he should place that option at the very bottom of his list. 

“Five more minutes,” he decided, turning away from the window and pacing back across the attic. Meanwhile, his thoughts resumed their course, circling around the conversation he knew was occurring downstairs. He could just imagine the Order’s outrage over the information Remus was giving them. Undoubtedly, they would assume the entire thing was some nefarious plot schemed up by Voldemort to turn the Wizarding World against Harry. Harry, on the other hand, thought the entire plan lacked a certain distinctive touch generally found in Voldemort’s work. Mainly, the absence of an attempt to wipe him off the face of the earth. 

Grimacing at the thought, he turned on his heel, gliding back across the room. Once again his eyes returned to the window, contemplating the chances of walking away from what would assumably be a very hard landing. Unable to prevent a shiver from shaking his shoulders, he spun around and glared at the darkened stairwell, dragging his fingers roughly through his shaggy locks. They were down there arranging his future, again. He could allow it, or he could put a stop to it, the choice was his. A growl rose within his throat and he whirled around, striding purposefully toward the window. 

His fingers had barely brushed the latch when noise erupted from below. The explosion sent him to his knees, his hands pressed tightly over his ears. With his eyes squeezed closed and his teeth grit, he waited for the clatter to subside, pressing his forehead against the cool boards of the floor. After a moment, his hearing adjusted, the loud voices dimming to mere whispers. He drew a deep breath, his nose filling with the smell of bacon grease and burning toast. Swearing softly under his breath, he pushed himself to his feet, standing shakily in the darkened chamber. 

Turning back to face the door, he opened his mouth and bellowed, “Remus!” Almost immediately the voices quieted, returning seconds later in nearly panicked hisses. Smirking to himself, he slipped into the heaviest shadows the attic could offer, concealing himself in the corner farthest from the window. He licked his lips as he listened to the stairs squeak beneath someone’s weight, his palms growing damp. His eyes remained focused on the top of the narrow stairwell that led up to the attic, his ears listening for the tell-tale click of the lock on the door at the base of those stairs. His heart pounded with his mounting excitement and he had to remind himself to breathe as he waited. 

The click of the lock was as loud as a gunshot to his sensitive ears. From his place within the shadows, Harry watched Remus climb the stairs. He shifted nervously, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance, his position becoming slightly more aggressive. When amber orbs landed unfailingly on him, he tensed, the piercing gaze curling his lip in a warning growl. 

“Good morning, Harry,” Remus said, keeping his tone level. He ignored the soft rumble that escaped the younger male, choosing instead to scan the room idly. 

“Even the Dursley’s let me out to use the loo,” Harry spat. His eyes narrowed at the disappointed sigh that slipped over Remus’ lips, the sound causing his teeth to begin an audible grind. He waited impatiently for the older wizard to respond, his fingers curling and uncurling. 

Eyes snapping closed at Harry’s bitter words, Remus heaved another sigh and raised a hand to massage the ache growing behind his right temple. When he reopened his eyes, the dark-haired wizard was in the exact same position; shoulders braced, hands fisted, teeth bared, and a wild light shining in his emerald orbs that practically screamed his readiness for battle. “Perhaps you should have a seat,” he said, indicating the nearby cot with a wave of his hand. 

Glaring at Remus in disbelief, Harry took a step back and placed his hands on the dresser behind him, boosting himself effortlessly atop the dark wood. “Consider me seated,” he snarled, watching the other wizard suspiciously. He nearly leapt from his perch when Remus moved, his entire body tensing in preparation for either fight or flight. “You were discussing me,” he said, hoping to hide his nervous reaction by making the first verbal thrust. 

Unable to deny the accusation, Remus dipped his head. It was imperative that he win back Harry’s trust, and lying was definitely not the way to go about doing that. “We were talking about you,” he acknowledged, “But we also realized we owe you a very big apology. We overreacted . . . all of us. At a time like this the last thing you need is all of us jumping down your throat and making wild assumptions.” He paused there, his gaze locked on Harry’s face as he searched for some sign the younger wizard was softening. 

Harry merely arched a brow and leaned back on his palms, the heel of one boot drumming absently against the drawers of the dresser. 

“It was just such a big surprise, Harry. You have to understand how everyone felt. How I felt. I’m sorry I acted like an ass, but I couldn’t believe you’d keep something so important from me. Me, the one person who’d be able to help and understand you better than anyone else,” Remus finished lamely. He held his breath as he watched Harry, attempting to read every nuance of the dark-haired wizard’s expression. 

He’s lying. Harry stiffened at the declaration and glanced over his shoulder, searching for the source of the accusation. His drumming heel stopped and he straightened from his lazy slouch. Brow furrowing in confusion, he scanned the chamber, his anxiety growing at finding himself very much alone except for Remus. He’s lying, the growl was repeated, the simple statement ringing inside his skull. 

Remus tipped his head, watching Harry carefully. “What’s it saying?” He asked, smiling at the widening of the younger wizard’s eyes. With an amused wag of his head, he slid his hands into his pockets and walked across the room, the heels of his boots scuffing across the boards. 

Swallowing, Harry wrapped his fingers around the edge of the dresser, his nails biting into the hard wood. “What are you talking about?” He asked, hoping he appeared at least a little confused by the question. His wary gaze remained on Remus, his heart pounding within his chest as he drew a deep breath, silently waiting for that damning voice to make another appearance. 

“The thing inside your head, what’s it telling you?” Murmured Remus, halting in front of the narrow window and staring out at the city. His eyes may have been on the snow covered streets of London, but his attention was on the younger wizard. The corners of his lips turned up wryly at Harry’s continued silence; he’d lost him. He turned back to face the dark-haired male, the tight smile he wore fading as emerald orbs glared at him from the shadows. “I’ve played this game longer than you’ve lived, Harry, remember that.” 

Harry merely arched a dark brow, his heels resuming their rhythmic tattoo against the drawers. 

Remus sighed and shook his head, striding toward the staircase. “Fine, we’ll talk about this later, when you’re ready.” He halted with one foot hovering above the first stair, his gaze returning to where Harry sat, appearing every bit the rebellious young wizard perched arrogantly atop the chest of drawers. “Albus is waiting for you in the kitchen. Mind your manners,” he added sharply, stiffening at the soft rumble that reverberated through the attic. Giving the younger male one last glare of warning, he turned and descended the stairs, leaving the door at the bottom ajar. 

Harry stopped swinging his foot and straightened from his slouch, listening carefully to the departing footsteps of Remus. Only once he was certain he was alone did he slip from his perch and slink toward the stairwell, his entire body nearly quivering with excitement at the sight of the open door and the freedom beyond it. Sweeping the attic with a final cautious glance, he slid stealthily down the stairs and nudged the door at the bottom open further, peeking around its edge carefully. 

His eyes swept the empty corridor, missing nothing. The position of each decorative table and portrait was noted and remembered almost absently, tucked away in the corner of his mind for future use. A sudden whiff of frying bacon had his stomach growling, the smell causing him to lick his lips hungrily and abandon his thorough examination of the hallway. Throwing caution to the wind, he followed his nose to the kitchen. 

Molly gave a startled yelp at his sudden appearance in the kitchen, pressing one hand against her chest as she drew a calming breath. “Good morning, Harry,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, a forced smile curving her lips. Her eyes were wary as the young wizard dropped into a chair at the table. Without thinking, she brushed her apron pocket, feeling for the comforting length of her wand. Unbeknownst to her, the telling gesture had not gone unnoticed. 

Since he didn’t have anything nice to say, Harry reached for the plate full of food sitting in the center of the table and pulled it closer. His gaze flicked to where Molly hovered near the sink, the witch seeming uncertain about whether or not he should be left alone in the kitchen. Deciding to ignore her, he snagged a fork and began to shovel eggs into his mouth, slowing only when the door opened and Dumbledore shuffled into the room. 

“Another wonderful breakfast, Molly,” Dumbledore said softly, giving his stomach a satisfied pat. He offered the red-haired witch a reassuring smile as he turned to face Harry. The smile fell from his face at the feral glow in the emerald orbs locked on him, the twin spheres following his every movement. Unable to contain the weary sigh that slipped over his tongue, he drew out the chair opposite the dark-haired male, seating himself gingerly upon the hard wood. “I believe Arthur’s waiting in the front den for you,” he said over his shoulder to Molly, smoothing his bright scarlet robes as she chattered nervously behind him. 

The polite dismissal was all the witch needed. After placing a teacup at Dumbledore’s elbow, she fled the kitchen, the door swinging back and forth with the speed of her departure. Her absence brought immediate silence to the warm kitchen, the quiet broken only by the scrape of Harry’s fork. 

“Remus tells me we have a bit of a problem, my boy,” Dumbledore said after several minutes, his gaze intent as he stared at Harry. He reached for the teacup next to his arm, curling his fingers around the warm porcelain as he waited for Harry to respond. The clock hanging above the stove ticked the seconds past, making the lengthening silence more marked. Somewhere within the house a door slammed, the thud causing the glasses in the cupboard to clink together. 

Lowering his gaze from the ceiling, Harry stared at Dumbledore, one brow lifting in query. “I wouldn’t say it’s a problem, Professor,” he said curtly, pushing his empty plate away after giving it a cursory swipe with his remaining quarter of toast. He jammed the hunk of bread into his mouth and chewed slowly, gauging the older wizard’s response to his reply. Mouth finally empty, he ran his tongue over his lips, clearing away any lingering crumbs. “Problems generally have a solution.” In a fluid movement, he rose and crossed to the fridge, hauling the door open and rifling through its contents. 

“I don’t believe you understand the exact ramifications of what has occurred, Harry.” Dumbledore said slowly, turning his head to keep Harry in his line of sight. He watched the younger wizard closely, catching the telling tensing of his shoulders and the whitening of his knuckles on the handle of the fridge’s door. 

Drawing a calming breath, Harry loosened his grip on the handle of the fridge and snagged the carton of orange juice hidden behind the milk pitcher. “Nonsense, Professor,” he muttered, stepping back and slamming the fridge door closed. He didn’t bother to glance at Dumbledore as he unscrewed the cap on the orange juice bottle, his nose wrinkling at the strong smell of tangerine. Without bothering to get a glass, he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long swallow, deeming to elaborate on his answer only once he’d satisfied his thirst. “I think ‘fucked’ covers the entire situation quite nicely, don’t you agree?” 

A sharp cuff to the back of his head caught him completely off guard, nearly causing him to drop the bottle he held. With an outraged snarl he whirled around, his eyes flashing at finding Remus standing directly before him. His lips drew back from his teeth at the other male’s proximity, a rumble of warning trickling over his tongue. 

“I told you to mind your manners,” Remus snapped, snatching the juice carton from Harry’s hand and gesturing him back toward his chair. He worked to calm himself as he haphazardly slapped the lid back on the container and returned it to the fridge, biting his tongue to keep from yelling. When he was certain he’d be able to glare at the younger male without cursing, he turned around and moved to stand behind Dumbledore, peering over his head at Harry. 

Eyes narrowed, Harry dropped back down in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Calm yourself, Remus,” Dumbledore said quietly, lifting his teacup and taking a small sip. He watched the young wizard over the cup’s rim, his mind churning worriedly. In one strike, Voldemort had dealt the Light a critical blow. And it couldn’t have come at a worse time. With a soft sigh, he placed the teacup on the table and clasped his hands before him, aware of Remus’ protective presence at his back. “I need you to tell me how this happened, Harry. It’s very important that you not leave anything out, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to you. Do you understand?” 

If it wasn’t for the flash of Remus’ teeth, Harry would have rolled his eyes. “I went to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione to finish my Christmas shopping,” he began in a bored voice, “I was waiting for them when I heard a noise, so I went to investigate. It was coming from an alley – the one that runs between Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks . . . there were so many people around, I didn’t think anything of it. It seemed safe enough.” He halted there, his mind returning to that fateful day. 

“Go on,” Dumbledore urged, his countenance one of patient interest. Remus, on the other hand, watched Harry closely, appearing almost agitated at the slow pace of tale’s telling. 

Absently trailing a finger over a knot in the wood of the table, Harry drew a deep breath, his gaze locked on his circling digits. “There was a little boy, just sitting there crying. I told him I’d help him find his parents. He took my hand and then told me his father’s name was ‘Fenrir’. I couldn’t pull away . . .” He gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if dismissing the entire incident. 

“That’s it?” Remus asked, appearing appalled that Harry had fell for the oldest trick in the book. 

Hand stilling, Harry straightened, his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of jade. “I could make it more interesting,” he said in a growl, his meaning clear in the curling of his fingers. “That’s enough, both of you,” Dumbledore said, interrupting the pair before they leapt at each other’s throats. He studied the dark-haired wizard thoughtfully, his brow wrinkling. There had to be more than that, Harry had to be omitting some part of the story. “Did he say anything else to you? Anything at all?” 

With a curl of his lips, Harry looked straight into Dumbledore’s eyes and lied. “Nope.” As long as they were organizing his life without his consent, he wasn’t telling them anything of importance. Sure, he was probably only going to end up screwing himself over with this one, but he was feeling particularly vindictive at the moment. “Can I go now?” He asked, pushing his chair back in preparation to rise. 

Appearing unconvinced, Remus shook his head. “That can’t be it. He had to have said something else to you.” 

“Well, he didn’t. But I’ll tell you what, the next time I see him, I’ll tell him how incredibly offended you were on my behalf that he didn’t insult or threaten me in some manner,” Harry shot back. 

“Boys,” Dumbledore said on a sigh. He couldn’t help but shake his head, both at Harry’s attitude and the lack of information he was able to garner from the brief interrogation. Deciding it was best to end the conversation, at least for the time being, he waved the younger wizard from the kitchen. “Try and stay out of trouble,” he called at the swinging door. 

Rolling his eyes at the order, Harry stalked down the corridor until he came to the door of the room that shared a wall with the kitchen. He didn’t think twice about entering the chamber quietly and slinking toward the far wall. After giving the room a quick scan, he sank down behind a couch and stared at the faded wall paper, patiently waiting for the pair of wizard’s beyond the old brick to resume their conversation. His lips lifted in satisfaction at the soft murmurs, his ears easily distinguishing each word. 

_“He’ll need to be watched.”_ Dumbledore, his to voice uncommonly grim. _“I don’t believe this was a completely random occurrence. That boy was there specifically to turn Harry. What I don’t understand is why. What could Voldemort possibly be planning?”_

_“Perhaps he’s simply trying to decry Harry.”_ Remus, sounding morally outraged. 

_“Maybe.”_ Dumbledore, sounding unconvinced. 

_“I can find out.”_

Harry sat up, intrigued by the thread of excitement he could hear in the older wizard’s voice. What was going through Remus’ head that would cause such a reaction? 

_“I can hunt Fenrir down and ask him.”_ Yeah, that would do it. 

_“I don’t believe that’s necessary at this time. For now, my concerns lay with Harry. This is a delicate time for him, Remus. We must handle him carefully while he makes this adjustment.”_

_“Perhaps he shouldn’t return to Hogwarts . . . one word from the wrong person could end badly.”_

The very thought of not returning to Hogwarts had Harry growling softly. He gained his feet fluidly, crushing the urge to return to the kitchen and pummel Remus until he could no longer make stupid suggestions. Instead, he drew a calming breath before turning and leaving the room. With nothing to do, he simply wandered Grimmauld Place, lost in thoughts of the past. 

XxXxX 

Eleven hours later he woken from a fitful doze to the cry of, “Dinner”. Swiping a hand over his face, he sat up slowly and peered around the attic, his eyes piercing the darkness with ease. He wasn’t surprised to find himself alone; it was a state he was beginning to accept. With a twist of his lips, he rolled off the cot and headed downstairs, his nose leading him to the large dining room directly across from the kitchen. His eyes widened at the crowd that milled around the long room, the crush of people nearly enough to send him back to the attic. Unfortunately, his retreat was halted by a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Remus growled into his ear, giving him no option but to square his shoulders and step into the room. 

His appearance caused a lull in the conversation, all eyes locking on him suspiciously. Shoulders drooping, Harry attempted to shrug out from under Remus’ guiding hand, barely unable to curb the snarl that rumbled within his throat. Clamping his teeth together, he allowed himself to be escorted to a chair between Severus and Arthur; Remus claiming the seat directly across from him. Harry glowered at him across a tureen of gravy, his fingers clenched in his lap. “Potatoes, Harry?” Arthur asked cheerfully, a massive spoon of mashed potatoes hovering over Harry’s plate. Without bothering to wait for a response, he placed a heaping spoonful onto the younger wizard’s plate, talking happily to himself the entire time. 

“Why not,” Harry mumbled, allowing himself to be served. He cast a baleful glance down the table, catching Ron’s hateful gaze with his own. Baring his teeth in parody of a smile, he picked up his fork and buried it in the pile of peas Arthur had liberally added to his plate. He couldn’t help but resent the atmosphere in the room; everyone fairly bursting with Christmas cheer and good wishes. As the meal progressed he was left to his own thoughts -- left to stew about everything that had happened since his arrival at Grimmauld Place. His anger grew with every spoonful of potatoes that crossed his lips. Was this how he was to be treated for the rest of his life? Like a bad puppy that had tinkled on the new rug? 

Lowering his fork, he glared at Remus, watching as the older male chatted quietly with Molly Weasley. Remus was allowed to wander the streets without a handler, free of the prosecution Harry had received from those he once considered friends. No longer able to play at being civil, the dark-haired male rose, his sudden movement turning all heads in his direction. Giving no excuse for his abrupt departure, he left the room quietly, returning to his haven in the attic. There, he paced angrily back and forth, pausing only to kick a crumpled ball of paper that had appeared in his path. He stiffened as the ball skittered across the floor, his eyes following it into the shadows. Without a second thought, he chased after it, unfolding and smoothing the wrinkles as he carefully reread the messy scrawl. 

_When you’re tired of playing lapdog, come and see me._

Harry drew a deep breath as he considered the invitation. Fenrir Greyback may have been as loopy as Trewlaney, but he did have a point. Harry had options. Ones he’d never before considered. But maybe it was time to start considering those options . . . planning his future as it were. Smiling to himself, he sprawled across his cot and read that note over and over again by the light of the moon. 

XxXxX 

Harry spent the remainder of his break in the attic, using his time to dig through forgotten trunks and riffling through pieces of Grimmauld Place’s broken past. He rarely joined the house’s other occupants for meals, preferring instead to eat alone in the attic. His mind never seemed to rest, constantly considering what he would do when he got back to Hogwarts - away from the watchful eyes of Remus Lupin. 

That thing that voiced its opinion from deep within his head offered its own suggestions, noting the pros and cons of every idea Harry had. Where at first it had startled him to hear thoughts that weren’t quite his own voiced within his head, he had grown to appreciate them, even accept them. The day he realized he was nodding in agreement with something it had said, he began to wonder if he was, perhaps, spending just a little too much time by himself. The voice assured him he wasn’t. He begged to differ, but didn’t bother to seek out the company of anyone residing in the house, knowing they would only stare at him suspiciously. Instead, he set himself to reorganizing the attic, claiming it as his own. 

It was a Monday night, the night before the day they were to return to Hogwarts, that his ‘organizing’ was interrupted. So absorbed was he in his self-appointed task, that he failed to notice he had a guest. It wasn’t until the individual gave a light rap on the wall at the top of the stairs that he realized he was no longer alone. 

Stiffening at the soft tap, he inhaled deeply and then straightened in surprise, withdrawing his head and shoulders from the seemingly bottomless trunk he’d been rifling through. Fingers tightening on the edge of the trunk, he slowly glanced in the direction of the stairwell, his face carefully blank. “Come in,” he said quietly, his voice breaking the heavy silence. 

Curiousity had him watching his visitor with interested orbs, wondering what business the bushy-haired witch could possibly have with him. His lips curled in amusement as Hermione narrowed her eyes and searched the darkened chamber for him, her brow furrowing in concentration. Smile fading, he rose liquidly, the sudden movement causing Hermione to jump and gasp loudly, a hand rising to rest over her fluttering heart. 

“Harry, you scared me,” she scolded, staring at the wizard’s silent form. She attempted a smile and failed miserably, her eyes unable to maintain the cheerful image she was trying to project. Her face fell and she sighed sadly, staring pityingly at the dark-haired wizard. “Oh, Harry. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

A bitter smile curved Harry’s lips and a harsh scoff slipped over his tongue before he was able to suppress it. “That would have gone over well,” he said, sarcasm adding a bite to the softly spoken words. 

Frowning, Hermione shuffled carefully in Harry’s direction, her narrowed eyes sweeping the shadows before her in search of hazards hidden by the darkness. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, finally halting before the raven-haired wizard and placing a hand on her hip. She glared up into twin emerald orbs that glimmered eerily, that strange shimmer enough to raise the hair at the nape of her neck and increase the steady beat of her heart. Her body tensed when Harry stretched a hand toward her face, his fingers stopping just above her cheek 

Offering the witch a half-hearted smile, Harry removed the offensive digits. “You’re afraid of me,” he murmured, “I can smell it.” 

Staring at the raven-haired wizard through wide eyes, Hermione shook her head sadly. “I don’t mean to be,” she confessed in a whisper. With a soft sigh, she turned and trudged across the attic, absently fiddling with the cuff of the sweater she wore. Thoughtlessly, she seated herself on the edge of Harry’s cot, her eyes locked on the toes of her slippers. 

Harry peered at the dejected looking witch from his place in the shadows, his fingers curling as he fought down the urge to hit something. Drawing a deep breath, he skulked over to the cot and sat down beside Hermione, resting his hands on his knees. “It’ll be okay,” he said, reaching over and tentatively patting her on the shoulder. Before he could withdraw his hand, the witch slid closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug. 

“Yes, it will be,” she said, drawing back and bravely meeting his gaze. “We’ll be just like Sirius and Remus and your father. No matter what happens, we’ll always be friends.” 

Harry returned her wide smile with a small grin, silently pondering the witch’s optimism. “What about Ron?” He asked, rising and pacing to the attic window. He rested his hands on the sill as he stared out into the night, allowing the visible sliver of moon to soothe him. Despite the conviction in her tone, he wondered if she’d be saying the same thing in five days time, when they were back at Hogwarts amidst their schoolmates. 

“Oh, Ron can just go fuck himself,” Hermione said with a dismissive flutter of one hand. 

Harry’s mouth fell open at the witch’s language, a startled laugh escaping him. Giving his head a light shake, he sighed heavily and walked back to the cot, flopping down gracelessly next to Hermione. “Do you really think it will be that easy, ‘Mione?” He wondered out loud, turning his head to peer sadly up at the witch. 

Hermione returned Harry’s sad stare, giving a small shake of her head. “No, I don’t,” she answered truthfully. 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. “Neither do I,” he mumbled. For a moment, the pair sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Harry’s soft chuckle that broke the silence, his eyes opening to meet Hermione’s curious gaze. “I may not have Ron, but there’s always Malfoy. He’ll never be able to leave this one alone.” 

With a delighted laugh, Hermione rose. “That’s the way, Harry, think positive thoughts,” she returned jovially, crossing cautiously to the attic stairs. Halting with a hand on the wall, she peered back through the shadows at the wizard’s still form, a small smile playing across her lips. “Goodnight, Harry.” She shook her head at his wave of farewell and slipped quietly down the stairs, the attic door closing softly behind her. 

His eyes still closed, Harry tracked the witch’s path with his ears, the rhythmic patter of her feet taking her all the way to the bedchamber she was sharing with Ginny on the second floor. He was able to hear the redheaded witch’s voice rising in greeting, but unable to determine exactly what passed between the pair as they readied themselves for bed. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he rolled over onto his stomach and curled his arms beneath his head, listening wearily as Grimmauld Place fell silent. 

It was really too early to even guess at what would happen when they returned to Hogwarts. And Harry had only one chance to prove he could control not only himself, but the wolf currently residing within his head. Praying that he would master the beast by then, Harry closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, his last thoughts of a blond haired Slytherin who knew more than he should. 


	4. Hermione's Conspiracy Theory

 

**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.**

**Chapter Four - Hermione’s Conspiracy Theory**

Harry woke to the babble of excited voices and the smell of burning toast, neither of which was appreciated. Cracking one eye open, he levered himself up on an elbow and glared at the window and the bright light streaming through its dirty glass. With a muted groan, he flopped back onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, feeling like he hadn’t slept in days. The heavy tread of approaching feet on the third floor opened his eyes and turned his head in the direction of the attic stairwell, his emerald orbs narrowing as his nose twitched. 

“Get up, Harry!” Ron hollered, pounding loudly on the door at the base of the stairs. He didn’t bother to wait for a response of any kind, fleeing back towards the safety of the kitchen as soon as his message was delivered. 

Against his will, Harry’s lips curled in disgust; the redhead was acting for all the world like an ignorant pureblood. Rolling fluidly from the cot, he straightened, stretching his arms above his head. He scratched his chest lazily and fought down a yawn, listening to the chaos occurring downstairs. Shortly after eleven o’clock they were due at Kings Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express, and their subsequent departure had sent the house into a state of turmoil. The thought of returning to Hogwarts was almost enough to make Harry groan. 

Fighting down a grimace of distaste, he ruffled his hair and strode toward his trunk, tossing back the lid and peering into its shadowy depths. With little thought, he dragged the first clean shirt from the jumble of books and quills and yanked it over his head, returning for a pair of reasonably clean trousers. After securing the last button, he bumped the lid closed and flipped the latches, scanning the narrow room for anything he’d forgotten to pack last night. 

“Harry Potter!” 

Harry cringed at Molly Weasley’s shrill cry, glancing unconsciously in the direction of the shout. Rolling his eyes, he bent and hefted the trunk onto his shoulder, bearing its weight easily. With one last look around the attic, he turned and headed downstairs, clunking loudly down the narrow steps. He deposited his trunk in the pile in the foyar before proceeding to the kitchen, listening to the loud mumbles drifting down the corridor as he approached the swinging door. 

His expression grew grim at the audible grumbles, his eyes narrowing at the sneer in Ron’s voice as he spoke to Hermione. Fingers curling, Harry breezed into the kitchen, halting just inside the doorway. At his sudden appearance, Ron’s mouth snapped closed, the redhead’s gaze dropping quickly to his plate. Carefully, the dark-haired wizard unclenched his fingers and accepted the plate Molly held out to him, forcing his eyes away from the top of Ron’s head. “Thank you,” he murmured politely to the witch, pulling out the chair directly across from Hermione. Although the bushy-haired witch offered him a tentative smile, he could see the glassy shimmer of tears in her eyes. The growl that vibrated his throat was cut off when the back door swung open and Remus stepped into the room, his amber eyes landing unfailingly on Harry. 

“Good, you’re all up,” the older werewolf said briskly, his gaze still locked on the raven-haired male. He gave a faint shake of his head before moving toward the kitchen table, nodding in thanks to Molly as she pressed a cup of coffee into his cold hands. “There are a few things we need to speak about before we leave, the most important of which is the fact that Harry is now a werewolf. That information is to go no further than this house.” His tone brooked no argument. 

“You’re not actually letting him come back to Hogwarts, are you?” Ron asked, sounding completely aghast at the very thought. Blinking wide eyes, the redhead glanced in the direction of his mother, obviously waiting for her to reassure them that Harry was, indeed, not returning to school. 

Molly turned away from her son’s pleading gaze in pretense of cleaning the counter, her shoulders visibly taunt and her voice heavy with emotion. “Why wouldn’t Harry be returning to Hogwarts, Ron? He’s still an enrolled student and has every right to an education, even if he is a werewolf.” 

“That’s right,” Remus said, his amber orbs locked on the redhead. His left brow lifted when the younger wizard opened his mouth to protest, but a soft snarl from the far end of the table silenced Ron before he had a chance to speak. “Enough,” Remus said, shooting a warning glance down the table. “As long as Voldemort is looking for him, the safest place for Harry to be is with Dumbledore. We all know, however, that werewolves aren’t tolerated at Hogwarts. And, if the Wizarding World somehow finds out that Harry Potter’s a werewolf . . . well, the reaction won’t be good. Do we all see the problem?” 

“What are you planning on doing?” Hermione asked quietly, her solemn gaze focused on Remus. 

“The Unbreakable Vow,” Remus replied softly, placing his wand on the table. He was shaking his head before Ron had a chance to argue. “The Vow has already been administered to everyone else who knows. The three of you,” he murmured, nodding his head at the trio, “are the only ones left to do.” 

Ron’s chair clattered to the floor as he shot to his feet. “I’m not doing it,” he yelped. “You can’t expect me to share a dorm room with him either! There’s no way I’m living with a werewolf! And Dean, Seamus, and Neville have a right to know what they’re living-” 

“Sit down, Ronald Weasley!” Molly yelled, her face a bright shade of red as she glared at her son. Drawing a deep breath, the witch planted her hands on her hips, chin jutting upwards. “This is for the best, Ron.” 

Mouth closing, the redhead stared at his mother in shock. He opened his mouth to try again but snapped his jaw closed when the witch widened her eyes in warning, taking a step toward him threateningly. “Whatever,” he muttered, picking his chair up and then flopping onto it. 

Eyes wary, Remus reached for his wand, gesturing that the trio take hands with the glowing tip. He watched closely as Hermione laid her hand atop Harry’s, frowning when Ron tentatively rested his fingers on top of the witch’s. Gently, he placed the point of his wand on the trio’s stacked hands, his eyes lifting to meet Harry’s for one brief moment before they returned to the unsteady pile. “Do the three of you, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter, promise not to divulge anything that occurred here at Grimmauld Place to anyone?” His gaze followed the fiery line that crept from the tip of his wand, watching cautiously as it wrapped itself around the hands and wrists of the trio. 

“I do,” Hermione said firmly, her chin lifting proudly as she made the declaration. 

Harry’s chin dipped, his gaze locked on the hands resting on top of his. “I do,” he said. He jumped slightly when the line of red magic tightened, his gaze leaping to Hermione’s even as the thing inside his head told him to be wary. 

“I suppose.” Ron agreed grudgingly. 

Lips tightening at the redhead’s less than satisfactory response, Remus continued, “Do you all agree not to breathe a word to anyone outside the Order of the Phoenix that Harry Potter is a werewolf?” 

“Of course,” Hermione agreed quickly, her eyes narrowing on the redheaded wizard as he gave a faint shake of his head. “Come on, Ron,” she hissed softly, her fingers tightening around Harry’s as the dark-haired wizard growled softly. 

Ron’s head snapped up at the quiet growl, his blue eyes widening at the glowing emeralds focused completely on him. “I agree,” he muttered, pushing his chair back so he was as far away from Harry as possible without removing his hand from the pile. The fiery ribbons encircling his wrist flared, the magic stretching further up his arm until it coiled around his elbow threateningly. 

“I do,” Harry said, his gaze locked on Ron. 

With a powerful pulse, the magic binding vanished, and the trio yanked their hands back as if they’d been burnt. Sighing in relief, Remus withdrew his wand and leaned back in his chair. “Well done,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. 

“Everyone will be arriving soon to escort us to Kings Cross,” Molly informed the group, the sound of her voice breaking the staring match going on between the two wizards. “If there’s anything you haven’t packed, go see to it.” She may as well have yelled that the kitchen was on fire, because the room emptied in seconds. Her gaze shifted from the swinging kitchen door to Remus, her lips firming as she glared unhappily at the gaunt wizard. “I don’t like this, Remus. I don’t like it at all.” That said, the redheaded witch stormed from the kitchen, leaving Remus to stare into his cold coffee. 

XxXxX 

Harry stood silently next to Remus, shouldering deeper into his heavy cloak as snow drifted down around them. His gaze swept the platform, noting the few remaining students standing with their parents, the majority having boarded the Hogwarts Express in search of seating. He slid his eyes to Remus when the older wizard shifted, the calm expression he wore belying the turmoil he so obviously felt. Scuffing restlessly at the concrete platform with the toe of his boot, Harry waited for the speech he was sure was coming. 

Casting a surreptitious look around, Remus turned to face Harry, staring down at the dark-haired male with wary eyes. “I want you to be on your best behaviour. Absolutely no fighting, at all. I don’t care how much of a ponce Malfoy is, or how rude he may be to Hermione or you, just ignore him. In fact, it might be best if you avoid Malfoy all together. You have to remember you’re stronger than your peers now, Harry, you could hurt them without even thinking about it. Keep your temper, and for Merlin’s sake, no growling!” 

Harry lifted a brow at that last addition to Remus’ spiel. “So, use my words and not my fists?” He questioned, barely avoiding the eye roll that came so naturally with the sarcasm. 

Expression darkening, Remus reached out and laid a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder, his fingers tightening in warning. “This isn’t a joking matter,” he hissed angrily. “You could seriously injure someone with a single punch. If that happens, there’s nothing Dumbledore or I could do to help you. Do you understand, Harry? Don’t screw this up!” 

Harry was barely able to conceal his surprise at the harsh command. Dipping his shoulder, he slid out from under Remus’ hand, taking a long stride to put himself beyond the older male’s reach. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, tension mounting as the silence lengthened. The train’s piercing whistle shredded the silence, causing both wizards to jump and shoot narrow eyed glares at the Hogwarts Express. “I understand, Remus,” he murmured finally, his gaze returning to the older male. 

Drawing a deep breath, Remus nodded his head, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Good, Harry, that’s good. Just remember to trust yourself, no matter what that thing - that wolf - inside your head tells you, trust yourself.” The pair stood there awkwardly, shifting their weight as they watched the few remaining students clamber aboard the train. Parents called tearful and cheerful goodbyes, waving almost frantically at their departing children. 

“I should probably go,” Harry whispered, taking a step in the direction of the Hogwarts Express. 

Remus reached out suddenly and pulled the raven-haired youth into his arms, pinning him in place as he whispered into his ear, “When the full moon comes, go and see Snape. And for the love of Merlin, Harry, take the potion.” He released the dark-haired wizard and took a quick step back, jamming his hands into the pockets of his dark coat.  <>p “I thought you’d be there,” Harry said, feeling suddenly lost. No matter how angry or upset he was at Remus, there was no way in hell he wanted to go through something as traumatic as changing into a wolf by himself. Lifting his chin, he stared into amber orbs, trying to read the emotion hidden within them. “Promise me you’ll be there.” Even to his own ears, the plea sounded desperate. 

“I don’t think I can,” Remus said, looking past Harry toward the train. 

Harry inhaled sharply and straightened, his chin lifting. “If you promise to be there, I’ll promise to be on my best behaviour,” he wheedled, leaving the rest up to Remus’ imagination. If the older male didn’t take the deal, he’d worry constantly that Harry was causing trouble and threatening the vow they’d all just made. Smiling triumphantly, the dark-haired male watched as a frustrated frown crossed Remus’ face. 

Knowing all his careful planning was teetering on the brink of destruction, Remus glared at Harry, his hands curling into fists. “I promise,” he hissed, his eyes slitting at the smug smirk that blossomed upon the younger wizard’s face. “Get on the train, Harry.” The urge to pummel the dark-haired male into submission was strong, but his determination to control himself was stronger. Drawing a deep breath, he stood stoic and silent among the waving parents, his amber orbs following the path Harry cut through the crowd. Seconds after the other werewolf climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, the train huffed out of the station, its shrill whistle nearly deafening him. 

XxXxX 

High on his victory, Harry strolled down the corridor between the compartments, searching for Hermione. He exchanged greetings with several other Gryffindors and insults with a trio of Slytherins, his good mood allowing him to shrug off the caustic mutters hurled at his back. Practically humming with good cheer, he continued his seemingly aimless wandering, his nose leading him unerringly in the direction Hermione had taken. 

A compartment door slid open ahead of him and Draco Malfoy stepped into the narrow hallway, his pale silver eyes brightening as they landed on Harry. A smile slowly curled his lips as he slid the door closed, turning to face the dark-haired wizard. “Potter,” he sneered in greeting, widening his stance until he took up the entire corridor. 

“Malfoy,” Harry replied in a low growl, following the blond’s example and spreading his legs until his feet almost rested against the walls of the aisle. He arched a brow when the Slytherin smiled slowly, the curl of his lips closely resembling the snarl of a wolf. Feeling his own lips peel back from his teeth, Harry tensed, remembering the promise he’d just made to Remus. His chest lifted as he took a calming breath, carefully straightening his fingers. “How were your holidays?” He asked, the polite question throwing the blond completely off guard. 

Eyes narrowing, Malfoy glided forward, trailing his hands along the walls to either side of him. He halted when his chest was almost pressed against the dark-haired wizard’s, his chin dipping as he glared down into Potter’s upturned face. “Probably not as entertaining as yours were,” he breathed, lifting his head and sliding his right foot back. “How’d loony Lupin take the news, by the way? Shocked that you’d joined the Fur and Fang Club, I’d imagine.” 

Harry reacted without thought. His left hand shot out, not in a punch, but a wild swipe that passed within a hair’s breadth of the blond’s throat. He froze with his fingers still curled, his eyes widening at the soft chuckle that spilled over the other wizard’s lips. Malfoy had moved. At the last second, he’d leaned backward, managing to avoid what surely would have been a killing blow. But he shouldn’t have been able to. The speed at which he’d struck had been beyond the abilities of a normal wizard. There was no way Malfoy should have been able to move faster than him. “How-” 

Widening his eyes innocently, Draco slammed his clenched fist into Harry’s startled face. He smiled at the dark-haired wizard’s gasp of pain, watching with interest as blood began to trickle from his broken nose. “Best be careful, Potty, another demonstration like that and you’ll have everybody wondering if your pet werewolf slipped his muzzle.” The blond made a moue of distaste as he glanced at his bruised knuckles, giving his hand a slight shake to try and dispel the lingering ache. 

Harry opened his mouth to try again but was stopped when the compartment door behind Malfoy slid open. The pair of third year Ravenclaws that stepped into the corridor stared at him in surprise, their bright eyes taking in his bloody nose and Malfoy’s presence before reaching the conclusion that the two had once again been fighting. Cringing at the holler of ‘fight’ that escaped the duo, he pressed the back of his hand against his nose, narrowing his eyes at Malfoy. Compartment doors crashed open up and down the length of the car, excited students spilling into the narrow aisle. His shouted name was enough to make his head pound, his emerald orbs beginning to water in sympathy. 

“Quiet down!” Hermione’s commanding voice brought immediate silence to the mass, all faces turning in her direction. “There’s nothing to see here, so please return to your compartments and go back about your business.” One foot tapping impatiently, the witch watched the crowd slowly break up, the students returning to their compartments with unhappy mumbles. As soon as the last door slid closed, she turned her gaze to the pair of wizards standing in the middle of the aisle, a single brow raising as Malfoy hissed something at Harry before storming down the corridor and exiting the car through the door at the rear. “What was that all about?” She demanded, walking quickly toward Harry and resting a hand on his chin. Her frown grew as she peered at his broken nose, assessing the damage that was slowly beginning to fix itself. 

“He knows,” Harry whispered, pushing Hermione’s hand from his face. “Somehow he knows.” Recapturing his chin, Hermione reached for her wand. “Nonsense, Harry, how could Malfoy possibly know?” Before he had a chance to pull away from her grip, she tapped him on the end of the nose and whispered ‘epsikey’. 

Barely suppressing a yelp of pain, the raven-haired wizard jerked away from her grasp and rubbed his straightened nose, ignoring the dribble of fresh blood that spilled from his left nostril. “He knew before the holidays. He called me a-” 

Hermione slapped a hand over Harry’s mouth, silencing him before he had a chance to say the word. Shooting him a glare of warning, she grabbed his hand and towed him from the car and to the next, entering the second compartment on the right. She attempted to shove him onto the seat across from hers but failed miserably. “You can’t just go about saying ‘werewolf’, Harry. Besides, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for the entire matter.” 

“Like what?” Harry hissed his disbelief, digging for a handkerchief in his pocket. He pulled out a bunched up tissue and stared at it a moment before pressing it against his nose, pretending not to notice the witch’s grimace of disgust. 

“Like . . . well, Voldemort told Fenrir to infect you at a Death Eater meeting where Lucius Malfoy was present. Lucius Malfoy, in turn, told Draco. There, is that reasonable enough for you?” Hermione demanded, dragging a clean handkerchief from her pocket and shoving it into Harry’s hand. “Also, we’re not supposed to be talking about this.” 

“No, we’re not supposed to talk about our holidays or tell anyone outside the Order of the Phoenix that I’m a werewolf. You’re in on the vow, too, which means you don’t count.” Harry said, taking the clean handkerchief and holding it against his nose. He shoved the bloody tissue back into pocket and sprawled out across comfortable bench, resting the heels of his boots against the wall. 

Hermione stared at Harry doubtfully, wondering if could cite his source. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she murmured, reaching for her book bag. 

“We’ve already discussed this,” Harry mumbled. He waved down the witch’s protests and leveled a finger at his temple. “Not you and me. Me and . . . me, I guess.” 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, her voice emerging as a faint whisper. 

Harry shrugged his shoulder lazily, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “I’m gonna take a nap. Oh, and ‘Mione, I’m not crazy or anything.” 

Hermione gave a light laugh and pulled a book from her bag, opening it to the page she’d read last. “That’s reassuring,” she said, peering over the top of the tome. She smiled at Harry’s light chuckle before turning her attention to her reading. Her smile faded as she stared at the page, the words blurring before her eyes. 

Remus was, arguably, a little crazy, but maybe he’d always been slightly absentminded. It was said, however, that Fenrir Greyback was completely insane, that being a werewolf had driven him mad. Perhaps insanity went hand in hand with being a werewolf. Maybe, in time, Harry would be just as crazy as Greyback and Remus. She frowned at the worrying thought, her hands tightening around her book. There was nothing one could do to prevent insanity, especially if it was a symptom of being a werewolf. A sniffle escaped her and she lifted a hand to her face, surprised to find her cheeks damp with tears. Glancing at Harry’s sleeping form, she rose and placed her book on the seat, slipping from the compartment to find somewhere away from the wizard to nurse her fears. 

No sooner had the door snicked closed behind Hermione then Harry’s eyes popped open. He stared at the ceiling unseeing, his hands folded over his abdomen and his mind racing. Within his skull the wolf worked, assembling and discarding pieces of Malfoy’s puzzle. After several minutes of rapid thought, the wolf slowed, regarding its findings and searching for any possible errors. The conclusion it reached was stupefying in its simplicity, yet mind numbing in its unlikelihood, because as far as Harry was concerned, there was no way a Pureblood supremacist like Lucius Malfoy would allow his only son and heir to be bitten and infected by a werewolf. 

But it was all there, the wolf inside his skull insisted. From his recent growth spurt to the speed he’d just demonstrated, Malfoy had all the makings of a recently turned werewolf. Harry frowned, not quite able to commit to the idea of the blond Slytherin being a werewolf. It simply wasn’t possible, he told his wolf, and that was that. He’d hear nothing else about the entire insane idea. With a firm nod, he settled back down and flung an arm over his eyes, deciding a nap was just what he needed. 

XxXxX 

Harry banged through the portrait hole, his eyes blazing and his hands knotted into fists. He cast his narrowed gaze about, searching angrily for Ron, and finding him sitting in a whispered huddle with Seamus and Dean. The trio looked up at his loud entrance, their eyes widening fearfully as he stalked toward them, his lips curled back to reveal his teeth in a wolfish snarl. 

They’d been back no more than three nights and already Hogwarts was abuzz with whispers that Harry Potter was a werewolf. Soft hisses that reached his ears as he walked down the corridors. Loud murmurs behind his back that even Hermione couldn’t possibly deny. And there was only one person who could have started the rumours. Well, two, but it was easier to corner Ron than Malfoy - and the redhead was a lot less likely to punch him in the face than the blond. 

“Weasley!” He growled, closing the distance between them in several short strides. The Common Room fell silent at his angry roar, the assembled Gryffindors holding their breath as he seized the redhead by the throat and dragged him to his feet. He gave the wizard a rough shake, ignoring the cries that slipped from the mouths of the frightened Gryffindors watching in mounting horror. “You told,” he hissed into the other wizard’s face, his fingers tightening dangerously. 

“Harry! Let him go!” Ginny shrieked, her eyes wide as Ron’s face turned a mottled shade of red. 

Harry snarled savagely in the witch’s direction, effortlessly lifting Ron from his feet. He slammed the redhead into the closest wall, his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of jade. He ignored the screams and shouts, barely flinching when Dean latched onto his arm and tried valiantly to free Ron. His orbs narrowed when an arm wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air supply and dragging him slowly backward. Glancing over his shoulder, he curled a lip in warning, his chest vibrating with a threatening rumble. 

“Harry!” The outraged yelp breached Harry’s angered conscience enough to cause him to lose his grip on Ron. The redhead collapsed to his knees and scrambled away, gasping for breath as Harry was prevented from following by the arm wrapped round his neck. With a deft twist, the dark-haired wizard freed himself, swinging around to face Hermione with an embarrassed look on his face. 

Disbelief etched in every line of her face, Hermione stormed across the Common Room, grabbed him by the arm, and then dragged him up the stairs to the sixth year boys’ dorms. “What were you thinking?” She whispered, pushing him into the circular room ahead of her and slamming the door. “For a start, the Unbreakable Vow prevents Ron from telling anyone about anything! And for another, how could you be so stupid?! Those were just rumours!” 

Shamefaced, Harry stared at the witch, unable to come up with a reply that didn’t make him look like an ass. Finally, he simply shrugged his shoulders. “I forgot about the Vow,” he mumbled, which was a bald-faced lie. He cringed as the witch leapt into a lecture, her hands flying as she stomped back and forth in front of him. 

Nothing could make him forget the vow, but the Wolf inside his head had thought it all through. It had added one plus one and come up with the redhead as the only possible solution. Malfoy had a lot to gain from telling everyone, but if he’d wanted to tell, he would have done it a long time ago. Harry could agree with that kind of reasoning. Ron, on the other hand, had only known for a short period of time . . . and now everyone knew. Coincidence, the wolf thought not. 

A sharp rap on the door ended Hermione’s lecture, turning both of them in the direction of the portal. Glancing at him with wide eyes, the witch walked quietly to door and opened it, her face paling as she looked into the dark orbs of Professor Snape. The Potions Master pushed past her, Professor McGonagall close at his heels. 

“You seem to have outed yourself, Potter, quite magnificently if I may say so,” Snape drawled, his wand tapping against his thigh lightly. He arched a brow at Harry’s threatening growl, the tip of his wand rising until it rested against the dark-haired wizard’s cheek. “You have no idea how lucky you are to be standing in this room right now. I told Albus you couldn’t be trusted to remember yourself, but that mangy werewolf insisted-” 

“Enough, Severus,” McGonagall said, her tone chilly. Shaking her head at the Potions Master, she reached out and caught the young wizard’s forearm, dragging him around Snape. “Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, Harry, immediately. Please return to your own dorm, Ms. Granger,” she added as an afterthought, ushering Harry ahead of her. 

Ignoring the grim expression on the face of his Head of House, Harry stalked down the stairs and through the Common Room, slowing only to curl a lip at Ron. The redhead’s whimper brought a smile to his face, a smile that vanished when Snape cuffed him sharply on the back of the head. Inside his head, the wolf demanded retribution, urging him to turn around and strike the older male. Fortunately, Harry realized that hitting Snape would probably only land him on his arse. 

XxXxX 

He found the stairwell leading up to Dumbledore’s office already open, a sure sign that the Headmaster was expecting him. Tossing a glance over his shoulder at Snape, Harry began the long climb upward, fighting down the rising fear that the Professor would send him back to Grimmauld Place. His knuckles had barely brushed the door in a nervous knock when Dumbledore bid him enter, the older wizard sounding extremely weary. 

Slinking around the door, he locked his eyes on the toes of his boots and scuffed his way across the room, not daring to meet Dumbledore’s gaze. He bit his bottom lip as he slipped into the chair in front of the older wizard, locking his hands together in his lap before chancing a peek at the Headmaster. There was no cheerful offer of tea and a lemon drop, instead, Dumbledore regarded him steadily over the rim of his glasses, his hands folded before him on his desk. 

“Harry, my boy, I was hoping you’d be a bit more discrete,” the old wizard said quietly. He settled heavily into his chair, pulling his glasses from his nose and rubbing his tired eyes. With a soft sigh, he replaced the lenses and glanced over Harry’s shoulder, watching as Severus entered the room. 

Eagerness practically wafting from him, Snape halted to the left of Harry and sneered down at the younger wizard before shifting his attention to Dumbledore. “Should I inform Lupin of Mister Potter’s immedaite return to Number 12?” He asked, sounding delighted at the very prospect of giving Remus the bad news. The triumphant expression he wore vanished at the Headmaster’s head shake, his mouth almost falling open in surprise. “But surely you’re not-” 

“Only the Gryffindors were present for Harry’s . . . dramatics?” Dumbledore questioned softly, pushing his chair back from his desk and rising stiffly. 

Snape’s eyes narrowed, his fingers clenching in the folds of the dark robes he wore. “The incident did occur in the Gryffindor Common Room but-” 

“Then I’ll deal with it, Severus,” the Headmaster said firmly, his meaning clear in the slight swish of his wand. His gray brows arched when the Potions Master sputtered, a small smile gracing his lips. “In the mean time, please escort Harry to the chambers the House Elves have prepared for him on the fourth floor. The password, I believe, is ‘serendipity’.” With a final promising look at Harry, he walked from the room, his shoulders heavy with the deed he was about to perform. 

“So close, eh, Professor?” Harry remarked, tipping his head to avoid the back of Snape’s hand. 

Fuming, Snape spun around and stormed toward the door. “Shut up, Potter,” he hissed angrily, gritting his teeth at the light laugh that rose in his wake. Hands fisted at his sides, he muttered unhappily about the unfairness of life as he led Dumbledore’s Golden Boy to his newly renovated chambers. 


	5. Caged

**DISCLAIMER** : Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling. 

**Chapter Five – Caged**

By lunch time Friday afternoon, everyone at Hogwarts knew Harry Potter had been given his own suite of rooms. The reason, of course, was open to speculation. Gossip was rampant, though, and already the rumours were flying faster than a bad case of Wizard Pox. What there wasn’t, however, was a single whisper about the incident that had occurred in the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry assumed that meant Dumbledore had waved his wand and wiped the Gryffindors memories clean. 

With a sigh, he dropped his chin into his palm, glaring across the Great Hall at Draco Malfoy. The blond was easily ignoring him, his entire attention seemingly focused on the plate sitting before him. Curling a lip, the dark-haired wizard stabbed his fork into the last sausage on his plate, pretending not to notice the elbow Hermione dug into his side. After a long night of thinking - and a very stern lecture from both McGonagall and Dumbledore - he had come to the conclusion that Draco Malfoy was indeed the manufacturer of the werewolf rumours. Not that he’d be apologizing to Ron anytime in the near future. 

“You coming, Harry?” Dean asked loudly from the other side of Hermione, gesturing at the retreating forms of Seamus and Ron. The wizard held a piece of toast in one hand and his History of Magic text in the other, a sure sign that the group was heading to class. 

“I’ll be right behind you,” Harry said, pushing the last piece of sausage around his plate. His eyes shifted from Malfoy to Dean, watching silently as the other Gryffindor strolled from the Hall, undoubtedly internally rallying and re-engineering another way to make Harry and Ron interact. It had obviously been decided by the Gryffindor sixth years that the rift between Ron and Harry could be fixed by constantly forcing the pair into close contact. So far, the theory had resulted in several loud arguments and a number of physical altercations that generally landed the pair in detention. Nevertheless, the group believed it was only a matter of time before some form of understanding was reached between the duo. Harry hoped none of them were holding their breath. 

Hermione stirred beside him, a frown pinching her features as she turned to look at him. “You are going to class, right?” She asked suspiciously, picking up the book bag that had been resting between her feet. 

Her question wasn’t exactly unfounded, as Harry had yet to make an appearance at any of his morning classes. “Probably not,” he replied truthfully before shoveling the syrup soaked sausage into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his gaze unconsciously returning to the section of the Slytherin table occupied by Malfoy and his cronies. His mouth stilled at finding the blond’s silver eyes locked on him, his fingers tightening around his fork. The growl that trembled in his throat went unheard by the group seated around him, the excited chatter covering the quiet sound. 

“Harry,” Hermione murmured, her tone thick with disapproval. 

Not feeling any particular need to defend himself, Harry simply lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. Technically, it wasn’t his fault he’d skipped Potions and Divinations. Nope, the blame for that infraction could be laid solely on the head of the wolf. Since the moment he’d opened his eyes this morning, the animal had been at the front of his mind, growling and snapping like a wounded animal. Of course, the reason for its agitated state was as clear as the little full moon in the corner of his agenda. And frankly, he was starting to get a headache from its maddened baying. 

“I think a nap’s in order,” Harry decided aloud, ignoring the look Hermione attempted to pin him with. He slung a leg over the bench and rose, waiting for the witch to join him before strolling toward the double doors. As they went to part ways in the hallway, Hermione’s hand locked around his forearm, impeding the escape he was about to make. “What? I’m tired and I have a long night ahead of me,” he said in a whisper, turning to face the witch. 

At the hissed explanation, Hermione paled, her finger’s loosening enough to allow the wizard to pull his arm free. She darted a quick look around before leaning into Harry, all censure having vanished at the reminder of what he was going to have to endure tonight. “Are you okay?” 

“Bit of a headache, but fine other than that,” the dark-haired wizard said. He smiled and gave the witch a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’ll catch up with you later.” With a farewell flick of his fingers, he fled, heading for the safety of his room. 

Ten minutes later he was sprawled across the comfortable sofa before the little fireplace in his new quarters, surveying the room with pursed lips. Done in a soothing shade of nutmeg brown, the suite consisted of a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small living area. It was also blissfully quiet. With a wide yawn, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying inhaling air free of the cloying scents usually present in the Gryffindor Common Room. Here, there was no sickly sweet perfume to burn his nostrils. Nor was there any hint of aftershave applied so heavily he could taste it upon his tongue. Slumping into a more comfortable position, he tucked an arm behind his head and settled in for an afternoon nap. 

Several hours later he cracked an eye open and stared groggily at the ceiling. He flinched when the little clock hanging on the wall began to chirp, the mellow dongs counting off the hours that had passed while he slept. Absently, he counted each bong, his eyes widening when the last hollow tone filled the small chamber. His gaze darted anxiously to the window, his body tensing at the purple and pink stripes highlighting the slowly darkening sky. Swallowing, he swung his feet to the ground and stood, glancing at the clock to confirm the time before striding quickly toward the door. 

The moon would be full soon, perhaps not within this hour, but definitely within the next. He had just enough time to check in with Hermione before he’d have to report to Snape, a thought that had snitches winging around his growling stomach. Jogging through the corridors, he made his way up to the Gryffindor Common Room, ignoring the handful of students he encountered en route. 

He felt only a moment’s confusion when he stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room and found Hermione absent, the chair she usually occupied empty. Brow furrowing, he ambled further into the chamber, his gaze sweeping over the scarlet couches and walnut desks in search of the witch. Finally, after accepting the fact she wasn’t in the spacious room, he strode to the bottom of the stairs that led to the girls’ dormitories and called her name. 

Just as he was opening his mouth to repeat his cry, Lavender Brown appeared at the top of the stairs in a swish of purple bathrobe, her eyes narrowed and her hair in curlers. Planting a hand on her hip, the witch glowered down at him, her lips pressed tightly together. “She’s gone to the library,” she informed him briskly, giving him one last glare before whirling around and vanishing from sight. 

Unable to keep from shaking his head in disgust, Harry turned on his heel and left the Gryffindor dorms, nearly hitting Dean in the face with the Fat Lady’s portrait as he exited. He ignored the wizard’s outraged yelp in favour of jogging down the stairs before they changed position, slowing only when he reached the landing at the bottom. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolled lazily toward the library, ignoring the handful of students who crossed his path. 

At six o’clock on a Friday night, the library was practically deserted, which by all rights it should have been. Only the diehards would willingly spend their free time cooped up in the library surrounded by books, especially on a night when there were so many other things they could be doing. To Harry, spending a free night in the library was something akin to a nightmare, but if that’s where Hermione was, that’s where he’d be. 

After spooking a pair of third year Hufflepuffs snogging in a corner and a snoozing Ravenclaw, Harry finally stumbled across Hermione. The witch was seated upon the floor surrounded by open books, a Quick Quotes Quill hovering at her shoulder dutifully recording everything she said. Resting his hip against a nearby desk, he quietly observed the witch, smiling at her enthusiasm as her attention leapt from book to book, her fingers nimbly turning pages and running over dainty script. When she straightened and raised a hand to rub the back of her neck, he shifted, the movement drawing the witch’s focus from her studies. 

“Harry,” she said excitedly, waving him forward with a wiggle of her fingers, “Come see what I found.” Practically bouncing up and down where she sat, she quickly shoved a pile of unopened books aside, clearing a spot for the wizard to sit next to her. 

Trying to appear just as excited as she was, and undoubtedly failing, the raven-haired wizard walked to where she sat and dropped liquidly to his haunches. His brows lifted as he scanned the titles of the texts, very unsurprised to find all of them somehow relating to werewolves or other such creatures. “Keeping busy, ‘Mione?” He asked teasingly, lifting one of the unopened books from the pile and idly paging through it. 

Face reddening, Hermione shrugged her shoulders and snatched the book from Harry’s hands, placing it carefully back in the stack of books she hadn’t yet read. “Something like that,” she murmured, returning her attention to the tomes spread before her. Her brow furrowed as her gaze shifted from book to book, finally, with a sigh, she reached for the notepad floating above her shoulder. After quickly flipping through several pages filled with small notes, she halted, and then dragged one of the larger books into her lap. “I found something I think you’ll find very interesting,” the witch mumbled, her eyes locked on the numbers in the corners of the pages as she searched for a certain paragraph. 

Arching a brow, Harry leaned back on his hands, his expression turning doubtful. “If you think so,” he said, unable to keep from sounding disbelieving. He gave an apologetic lift of his shoulders at the glare the witch shot him, his eyes absently sweeping the corner of the library they inhabited. 

“Here,” Hermione said, directing his attention to a lengthy paragraph with the tip of her finger. Not bothering to wait for him to begin reading the section by himself, she began to read aloud, “The mating of two werewolves will, most commonly, result in the birth of offspring which are abnormally powerful and possess traits not generally found in Bitten werewolves. Offspring of such a mating are considered ‘Pureblooded’ by the werewolf community and held in the highest regard. One of the unusual powers found in Pureblood werewolves is the ability to infect individuals while still in human form. However, the product of such a union is extremely rare due to a lack of sufficient breeding partners in the werewolf population. In the few recorded instances, individuals bitten by a Pureblood werewolf are stronger than the average werewolf, having greater speed, stamina, and sometimes, the unique ability to control the Change.” 

Harry stared at Hermione blankly. “And?” He said after a moment’s hesitation, wondering silently what the witch was getting at. 

“Don’t you get it, Harry?” Hermione said in a frustrated hiss. “That boy wasn’t bitten, he was bred. If Voldemort wanted you infected, he could have sent any werewolf out to infect you. Instead, he sent a little boy who might just be the first Pureblood werewolf in two centuries out to do the job. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?” 

“Do you realize you just accused Voldemort of having a five-year plan?” Harry asked in return. Before the witch could refute him, he shook his head and raised a hand, halting any further argument. “At this point, Hermione, I’m not even sure Voldemort’s behind this. It all seems a little to . . . thought out.” 

“This isn’t just some random occurrence!” Hermione snapped, defending what she considered a credible argument. “That boy was sent to Hogsmeade specifically to infect you.” 

“Don’t you think I’ve realized that?” Harry said angrily. He snatched the book out of her lap and closed it with an echoing thud, ignoring her murmur of protest as he tossed it lightly beyond her reach. “What’s done is done, Hermione. I’m a werewolf. There’s nothing you or I or anyone can do about it. No amount of research is going to save me. Just let it be, please,” he finished in a soft plea, the words hitting home harder than he would have imagined possible. 

Seeing his obvious distress, Hermione gave a reluctant nod, her fingers knotting together as she stared at the books laying open before her. “Are you scared?” She asked in a whisper, beginning to flip the nearest books closed. Her hands shook slightly as she worked to stack the tomes into a reasonably organized pile, chancing a glance at the raven-haired wizard out of the corner of her eye as she moved. 

“Terrified,” Harry admitted on a sigh. He straightened the pile of books beside him, not daring to glance at the witch. “But Remus promised me he’d be there.” 

Hermione brightened at that bit of good news. “That’s wonderful, Harry,” she said in a rush, “At least you won’t be alone. I was thinking about researching the Animagus charm, just in case-” 

Harry reached out and caught Hermione’s hand, shaking his head as soon as he had the witch’s complete attention. “No, ‘Mione. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. You’re my friend - my only friend - and I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you. If you became infected . . .” 

Appearing unconvinced, Hermione frowned, her hands stilling on the books she was straightening. “I suppose you’re right,” she replied slowly, noting the flash of relief that crossed the dark-haired wizard’s face before he managed to hide it. “When are you going down to see Snape?” She asked, deciding a change of subject was needed. 

“I should probably head down now,” Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding like he’d rather face a Hungarian Horntail wandless and in nothing but his boxers. He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the books beside him, lining the spines up perfectly. 

With a sigh, Hermione grabbed up her papers and shoved them into her book bag. “I’ll walk down with you,” she offered, swinging the bag up onto her shoulder before gathering an armful of texts and standing. She watched as Harry followed her example, tipping her head when he rose and leading him toward the shelves she had selected most of the books from. Her lips curved when he offered no protest, his silence telling her he would welcome the escort. They left the library and walked in silence down the corridor, heading in the direction of the dungeon stairwell. 

“You’ll be all right?” Harry asked, glancing at Hermione who paced along beside him. 

With a soft laugh, Hermione nodded her head. “I’ll be fine, Harry. I can survive without you for three days. Besides, I plan on going shopping in Hogsmeade with Luna and Ginny tomorrow afternoon,” she said, doing her best to reassure the raven-haired wizard. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, noting that he’d grown sightly more agitated since leaving the Gryffindor dorms. Frowning, the witch slowed, her attention on the dark stairwell that led down into the bowels of Hogwarts. At the first stair she stopped, turning to face Harry, her gaze assessing. “Will you be okay?” 

Swallowing, Harry nodded, his hands curling into fists. “Remus promised he’d be there,” he murmured. In his head, the wolf howled eagerly, its presence growing. Attempting to ignore the beast slowly wrapping itself around his mind, he drew a deep breath and began to descend into the dungeons, pausing only once to glance back to where Hermione stood. He forced a smile at her tentative wave, his nails biting into the stone of the banister. “I’ll see you later, Hermione.” 

“Bye, Harry,” Hermione called, her hand falling as the dark-haired wizard disappeared into the heavy shadows below. She stood there for several seconds, staring into the darkness before glancing nervously about her and then swinging around, heading quickly back to the safety of Gryffindor Tower. 

Walking slowly along the main dungeon corridor, Harry drew a deep breath and tried to calm himself, failing miserably. He didn’t want to do this. Merlin, he didn’t even want to think about doing this. Almost against his will, his strides shortened, his body breaking out in a cold sweat as fear swamped him. He didn’t want to turn into a mindless animal that murdered mercilessly. 

Drawing another deep breath, he unclenched his fingers and forced his rebelling body to continue on. He had to do this. With a firm nod, he lifted his chin and squared his jaw; he would do this. Halting before the door of Snape’s office, he lifted a fist and gave a sharp rap, waiting patiently for the Potions Master to allow him entrance. His senses seemed to sharpen as he stood in the shadows of the dungeon, his ears picking up the soft whispers seeping through the wood of Snape’s door. 

Frowning, he tipped his head, trying to determine the identities of the individuals who belonged to the vaguely familiar voices. Unfortunately, the door was opened before his ears could process the murmurs, his eyes widening at the sight of Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt flanking Severus Snape. 

_Trap, the wolf imprisoned in his head snarled._

Harry hesitated at the angered declaration, his body tensing even as his weight shifted in preparation for flight. He stayed frozen in the doorway, his gaze leaping nervously from one wizard to the next. Within his mind, the wolf began to analyze, attempting to determine the quickest route from the castle and the simplest method of preventing the three men from following. 

_Death,_ it breathed counter seconds later, curling Harry’s hands into claws and baring his blunt teeth in a fierce growl. 

“Seems he’s an early turner,” Moody observed from the left of Snape, the tip of his wand held level with Harry’s sternum. His magic eye rolled around inside its socket, peering upwards toward the night sky hidden by the walls of Hogwarts. 

“Hmm,” Snape agreed from behind the relatively safe width of his desk. He spared an idle glance at the clock hanging on the far wall, one dark brow lifting slightly; the moon wasn’t due to rise for another forty minutes. Sighing, he closed the book that he’d been studying and rose, gesturing Shacklebolt and Moody toward Potter. “Let’s get on with it, I have marking to do,” he said, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieving the vial that rested atop a pile of parchment. 

Seeing the pair move purposefully toward him, Harry took a step backwards, shooting an anxious glance over his shoulder as he shifted. His moment of inattention cost him, allowing the pair of burly Order members to grab him, halting his retreat. “Let go,” he snapped, ignoring the panicky tremble in his voice. He tried to pull away from Moody, jerking roughly against the Auror’s hold on his shoulder. 

“Calm down, Potter,” Shacklebolt ordered, tightening his grip on Harry’s arm. The strength he was exerting to hold the younger wizard in place was obvious by the expression on his face, his features strained as the dark-haired wizard jerked against his grip. 

Inside his skull, the wolf screamed betrayal. It fought ruthlessly against Harry’s hold on their shared body, demanding the wizard allow it its freedom. Because only it, the wolf breathed, could deal true justice. It would feel no grief or anguish over the deaths of the three wizards, only a sense of deserved rightness for their treachery. The wizard’s sought to trap them, and that pissed the wolf off. Harry was unwilling to admit he shared the wolf’s sentiments. 

“Where’s Remus?” The dark-haired wizard growled, narrowing his emerald orbs at Snape’s approach. His gaze dropped to the vial the Potions Master held, his efforts to escape growing decidedly more desperate. He tugged away from Shacklebolt and then planted an elbow in the wizard’s side when he was forced to take a step to regain his balance, slamming him against the dungeon wall. 

The wolf sensed freedom and added its considerable strength to Harry’s, giving him the power to slip the groaning Auror’s grasp. Before either Harry or the wolf had a chance to react, a hand grabbed their chin and forced their mouth open, allowing Snape to dump the contents of the vial down their throat. Coughing at the foul taste, Harry scowled up at the wizard, his eyes blazing with a feral light. “Where is Remus?” He spat, the question emerging as a drawn out rumble. 

Easily interpreting the sound, Snape smiled and slipped the empty vial into his pocket. “Lupin had important business to take care of that took him from the country. He sends his most sincere regrets and apologies, I’m sure.” Turning his dark eyes to Shacklebolt, he watched with an arched brow as the Auror hauled himself slowly to his feet. He gave a disgusted shake of his head at the Order member’s pained grimace, his gaze returning to Harry. “Need I remind you of your promise to Dumbledore, Potter? One more stupid stunt like that and you’ll spend the rest of your school year collared and caged. Now, if you’re quite finished with your juvenile tantrum, follow me.” Shooting a warning glance at Moody, Snape swept from his office and glided down the shadowed hallway, not bothering to make sure the strange trio were following. 

Teeth clenched, Harry allowed himself to be half-carried half-dragged down the corridor, his attention focused on pacifying the angered wolf residing within him. If they hadn’t been occupying the same body, its threats probably would have caused him to wet his pants and cry for his mummy. Fortunately, they were bound together tighter than a wand and its core. He was jerked from his thoughts by Snape’s unhappy mumbles; the Potions Master having stopped before a door made to resemble the stone wall to either side of it. 

“And this, Potter, will be your home for the next three days and nights,” Snape announced, pushing the door open and entering the small room. He waved his wand at the sconce on the wall, lighting the candle sitting in the bracket. The faint glow it produced allowed him to observe the perfectly empty space, because that’s all it was: an empty space. Narrow, with not a single piece of furniture or ornamentation save the candle holder, the chamber was exactly what it appeared: a cell. A temporary cage that could withstand the strength and anger of a fully turned werewolf. 

Harry stared around the chamber with mounting dread, the room reminding him too much of one he’d once occupied a very long time ago. His eyes widened when Shacklebolt gave him an unfriendly push forward, sending him stumbling into the cell. He whirled around in time to watch the door close behind Snape, the clank of the bolt ringing in his ears. A scraping sound heralded the opening of a small hatch near the top of the door, Snape’s nearly black eyes the only part of his face visible through the narrow slot. 

“The house elves shall see you’re given everything you need,” the Potions Master calmly informed the younger male. He stared at the raven-haired wizard a moment longer before sliding the hatch closed and departing, leaving Harry completely alone in a forgotten part of the dungeons. 

Unable to believe what had just happened, Harry reached for the wolf, and found the spot it generally inhabited curiously empty. It was . . . gone. The sensation was strange, as was the silence in his mind. There were no growled threats or keen observations. There wasn’t even a ripple of secondary thought. He wasn’t given a chance to contemplate the meaning of the wolf’s disappearance, a sudden spasm in his stomach causing him to double over and retch. 

Fire flared within his veins. His muscles burned and his jaw ached, the sickening crack of bones filling his ears. He opened his mouth around a scream of agony, the shriek emerging as a pained wail. His knees gave out, spilling him to the floor where he curled into a ball, feeling like his intestines were being ripped from his belly. He was unable to hold back the high-pitched whimper of pain that crawled from his throat, the sound stabbing at his ringing ears. Every inch of his body burned, the sensation causing him to writhe helplessly upon the cold stones of the dungeon floor. Through the mind-numbing pain, he realized this was it - the change. In seconds, he would be a werewolf. 

And then it was over, the wash of pain ending as quickly as it had begun, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath on the floor. He opened his eyes slowly and stared at the cell wall, the subtle ache in his muscles the only reminder of the agony he’d just endured. Tentatively, he flexed his fingers, the movement feeling strangely alien. Drawing a deep breath, he lowered his gaze, his eyes widening at the sight of the massive paw he now bore in place of a hand. 

Excitement and curiousity shot through him, the emotions urging him to his feet in a rush of adrenaline. He awkwardly scrambled to his feet, nearly landing on his nose in his rush to stand. Finally, after carefully planting all four paws, he stood, albeit shakily. Tipping his head, he glanced back over his shoulder, studying the body he now inhabited. Much to his pleasure, the form he had taken was that of an actual wolf, and not that of the gaunt creature he had once watched Remus transform into. 

Thick fur the colour of pitch covered him from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, shielding him from the cool air that whistled through the crack beneath the door. He took a cautious step forward, and then another, growing accustomed to the feeling of having four feet. Soon, he was pacing liquidly back and forth, his body nearly humming with restrained energy and power. He wagged his tail and cocked his ears, delighting in each new sensation. 

In the wolf’s body, his already heightened senses were even stronger. He could hear each thump of his heart, hear the blood pushing through his veins. He could even hear the House Elves in the kitchen arguing over tomorrow’s menu. The wind whistling under the cell door tickled his nose, bringing him the smell of musty air and damp stone and stale water. And his eyes could easily discern every crack in the mortar of the walls that contained him - in the dark. 

The novelty, however, wore off quickly. 

The cell that he occupied was no bigger than a broom closet. There was no room to stretch his legs, no room to run or play; he could only walk six short strides forward before encountering the door. In a bid to escape, he dug almost desperately at the stone portal, his nails leaving shallow gouges in the heavy brick. Disheartened, he threw back his head and howled. The sad wail did nothing but sting his sensitive ears. Tail drooping, he flopped to the floor and curled into a ball, nearly undone by the fact that he had three nights of this lonely existence to get through. 

With nothing better to do, he thought. He thought a lot. To be precise, he had exactly three full nights and two whole days in which to think. The only time his thinking was interrupted was when one of the house elves brought him food, and that interruption generally lasted no longer than the length of time it took him to swallow the vial of Wolfsbane Potion he was ordered to drink. 

By the end of the third night, Harry had come to the sad conclusion that one more night of silent loneliness could kill him. Perhaps, if Remus had of been there with him, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But he’d been left alone, forced to endure a solitude neither man nor wolf was designed to endure. Merlin help him, because he couldn’t live like this. Like a caged rat . . . or an abandoned dog at the pound - unwanted. As that thought slid through his mind, his gut clenched and his blood began to boil, his three nights of isolation drawing to an end. 

XxXxX 

Huddled against the damp stone of the dungeon wall, Harry shivered, goosebumps rising along the pale flesh of his arms. The unwavering darkness pressed in on him, no longer held at bay by the quivering light of the candle dancing in the candelabra. He drew his legs tighter against his chest, his chin resting on his upraised knees. His closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the musty air. The echoing sound of approaching footfalls opened his eyes, turning his face toward the cell door. A bright light became visible through the rectangular window in the stone panel, narrowing his eyes. With a resounding clank, the bolt slid aside and the door creaked open. 

Chin lifting, he stared blankly at the individual standing in the doorway, the bright light produced by their wand nearly blinding him. He rose unsteadily to his feet and limped forward, reaching out to take the offered cloak while keeping his eyes averted from the brilliant glow. His fingers shook as he wrapped the woolen folds around his body, carefully fastening the row of buttons before slowly lifting his gaze. Staring straight into Remus’ weary amber eyes, he whispered, “You promised.” Without another word, he gathered the heavy folds closer to his body and slipped from the dungeons, his words ringing in the empty chamber. 

XxXxX 

Arms wrapped around his waist, Harry stood in the owlery, watching the sun rise over the Forbidden Forest. He was only vaguely aware of the birds occupying the cubby holes lining the walls, his attention focused more inwards than outwards. It seemed his decision had been made for him. Days ago, he wouldn’t have believed it would ever turn out this way. That Dumbledore would allow him to be confined to a closet in the dungeons. That Severus Snape would pour a potion down his unwilling throat, drowning any protest he sought to make. Or that Remus Lupin, despite the communication problems they had recently had, would . . . abandon him. 

Breathing out heavily, he turned away from the sunrise, swiping a mitten over his cheeks to rid them of tears. “Hedwig,” he called softly, ignoring the quaver in his voice as he searched the shadowed alcoves for the owl’s snowy plumage. A soft hoot turned his head, his eyes alighting on the bird as she floated down to land gently on his proffered arm. Smiling sadly, he carried her toward the nearest window, running a light hand absently over her feathers. With his free hand, he withdrew the small piece of parchment he’d crammed into his pocket earlier, holding it aloft before Hedwig. 

“This needs to go to Fenrir Greyback,” he whispered, the words seeming nothing more than an innocent exhalation. In a flash, the owl seized the square of parchment and leapt into the air, rocketing higher into the sky with every dip of her wings. Harry watched her departure through unblinking eyes, his fingers wrapped around the stone lip of the window sill. It was done. The thought was almost enough to drop him to his knees, out of sheer relief or heart-rending sadness, he didn’t know. Head falling, he closed his eyes and hoped he’d made the right decision. 

A/n: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review. 


	6. Home, Sweet . . . Dilapidated Shack?

 

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Chapter Six - Home, Sweet . . . Dilapidated Shack?**

The porcelain tiles of the shower wall were cold against his back, a complete anthesis to the hot water pounding against the top of his head. Staring at his toes, lost in thought, Harry allowed the pounding spray to wash away three nights of filth and blood. In his head, he questioned the choice he’d just made. He had done many stupid things in his short life, but this little stunt might actually take the cake. With a heavy sigh, he pushed away from the wall and straightened, lifting his face to the warm water. The hammering spray almost managed to drown out the loud banging on the door of his rooms; an insistent knocking he’d turned a deaf ear to since it began. Just when he was beginning to ponder Hogwarts seemingly endless supply of hot water, the pounding stopped. 

Withdrawing his head from the stream, he turned his face in the direction of the door and listened. A relieved smile curved his lips when silence met his ears. With a quick flick of his wrist, he turned the water off and stepped from the shower, reaching for one of the towels draped across the counter. He stared at the mirror hanging over the sink for a long minute, his reflection hidden beneath a thick layer of fog. Slowly, he leaned forward and swiped a hand over the glass, revealing himself in the misted oval. Although dark rings circled his eyes, he still looked the same. Still looked like the same Harry Potter he’d seen in every reflective surface for the last sixteen years of his life. Carding his fingers through his hair, he offered himself a small smile before striding out into the bedroom. 

He halted at the foot of his bed and picked up the white shirt that was neatly folded upon the duvet, the cool air raising goose bumps along his arms as he struggled to drag the fabric over his still damp skin. Reaching for his boxers, he carelessly tossed the towel aside, glancing at the small silver clock sitting on the night table beside the bed as he dressed. “Shit,” he breathed at the time displayed upon the circular face. Sliding his feet into his shoes, he grabbed his school robe and swung it over his shoulders as he left the room, slowing only to slip the Gryffindor tie free of the doorknob before swinging the door closed on his heels. 

Stopping in front of the couch, he flipped the tie over his head and settled it into place with an efficiency borne from years of practice. He gave his pockets a quick pat in search of his wand, swearing angrily when he realized it wasn’t where he thought he’d left it. Wheeling around on his heels, he scanned the room desperately, slowing only to peer at the clock sitting on the mantle. “Fuck,” slipped from his mouth when he accepted the fact he was going to be late for his first class of the afternoon - Potions with the Slytherins. 

A silent snarl curled his lips at the thought of seeing Snape for the first time since his incarceration, a throaty growl working its way free of his chest. He stiffened at the sound, clamping his lips together to halt the flow of air from his mouth as he listened anxiously, searching for the wolf inside his head that had been absent since he first ingested the Wolfsbane Potion. He nearly shouted in joy at the aggravated murmur that brushed its way through his thoughts. His eyes fluttered closed as he gave silent thanks to whomever may have been listening, tipping his head back as he listened to the animal’s wary grumbles. 

Smiling to himself, he remembered his wand was on his desk and rushed over to pick it up, snatching up his book bag and heading for the door as soon as it was in his hand. He nearly tripped over his own feet when something clattered loudly against the glass of the room’s only window. Whirling to face the unknown threat, he unconsciously bared his teeth and dropped his bag to free his hands. The sight of Hedwig perched outside the panes had him rushing forward, his fingers fumbling at the latch in his hurry to allow the owl entrance. In his haste, he nearly knocked Hedwig from her awkward perch on the narrow stone ledge, forcing her to flap her wings to recover her balance. 

“Sorry, girl,” he murmured in apology, pushing the window open and stepping back. He trailed after the owl as she floated across the room on silent wings, frowning at the sight of her unusually ruffled feathers. Brow furrowed, he ran a light hand over owl’s head, murmuring soothingly when she shifted away from his touch. Internally pondering the cause of the damage, he carefully freed the parchment bound to her leg, jumping back when she immediately leapt into the air and shot out the window. 

Stupefied over the owl’s hasty departure, Harry crossed to the window, unfolding the paper as he watched her disappear in the direction of the Owlry. Shaking his head in confusion, he lowered his gaze to the note. Written in dark ink, and a barely legible scrawl, the note read simply: 

_10:30 p.m._

 _Hog’s Head_

Frowning, he flipped the note over, searching for a name or date, and finding nothing. He pulled out his chair and collapsed onto the hard wood, setting the narrow slip of paper amid the school assignments and quills on his desk. His eyes remained glued on the missive and he absently straightened the curling edges with the tips of his fingers, puzzling over the lack of date. Inside his skull, the wolf murmured the answer, making Harry draw a deep breath and close his eyes. For a moment, he actually considered ignoring the whisper, taking the message to Hermione instead and letting her come up with the answer he wasn’t ready to accept. Because there was no way he was ready to meet Fenrir Greyback tonight - the night after the full moon when he was feeling admittedly weak and most definitely betrayed. 

The dark-haired wizard dropped his chin into his palm, laying his hand over the note as if able to erase its existence with a mere wish. He may have asked the rogue werewolf for a meeting, but he hadn’t expected Greyback to reply immediately, and he certainly hadn’t expected that meeting to be on the same day as his request was sent. Why, he hadn’t even had time to talk himself out of the entire thing yet. Sighing, he swiped a hand over his face and rose, crushing the note in a curled fist and tossing it in the direction of the hearth as he moved toward the door. He may as well show up late for Potions, because the detention Snape was sure to give him couldn’t possibly make his day any worse. 

XxXxX 

Unfortunately, Harry had forgotten how fate loved to screw with him. After walking into the Potions Classroom and disrupting Snape’s lecture on why Gryffindors lacked any brewing skills whatsoever, he discovered that the only unoccupied seat was located next to Malfoy at the back of the room - and currently occupied by the blond’s feet. His eyes closed briefly in disbelief before he accepted the fact he was going to have to sit next to the Slytherin. Teeth grit, he ambled over to the empty chair and without so much as a growl of warning, yanked it from beneath Malfoy’s heels. 

Much to the disappointment of the class, his actions failed to garner a response from the blond. Other than the soft grunt he made when his heels connected with the floor, Malfoy neither stirred nor snapped. The group nearly groaned aloud at the unusual lack of hostility from the Slytherin. 

Harry, on the other hand, found himself feeling strangely relieved over the other wizard’s lack of response - both physical and verbal. With a soft exhalation, he flopped into his freshly acquired chair, giving Malfoy’s feet only a passing nudge as he stretched his legs out beneath the desk. He dumped his bag on the floor next to his seat and folded his arms across his chest, assuming a position very similar to that of the blond napping in the chair beside him. 

“Are you quite comfortable, Mister Potter?” Snape sneered into the silence. His harsh voice caused an immediate wave of shifting as everyone whirled around to face the front of the room, attempting to appear like they’d been listening to him for the last three minutes. 

Barely able to suppress a growl of hatred, Harry gave a tight dip of his head and replied, “Quite.” His voice emerged as a rough rumble, the sound finally drawing a response from the apparently dozing Slytherin sprawled beside him. 

The soft rumble that vibrated the blond’s chest would have been inaudible to the human ear, but to Harry, it was as clear as the ticking of the clock on the far wall. Immediately, the wolf roused, its heightened senses overwhelming Harry’s muted ones. In a heartbeat, his entire being was focused on Malfoy, from the pumping of his heart to each flutter of the blond’s nostrils, the dark-haired wizard missed nothing. For that reason alone he was able to detect the new but now familiar smell that clung to the blond’s skin: the smell of wolf and fur. The discovery widened his eyes and caused his body to tense. 

Malfoy, in turn, stiffened. Though his posture remained relatively relaxed, his knuckles whitened where they curled around his elbows and his jaw clenched. One silver eye slitted to closely observe the raven-haired wizard beside him, waited for further action beyond the anxious tensing of muscles. 

Harry swallowed and glanced nervously about, hoping that the almost tangible tension swirling around the back table was going unnoticed by the individuals sitting at the surrounding desks. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, uncurling his fingers and drawing in a deep calming breath. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, focusing his gaze on the blackboard behind Snape while his mind raced. It was true, then. Malfoy really was a werewolf. The wolf whispered a snide ‘I told you so’ within his skull, though its attention never really left the wizard seated beside them. He didn’t believe, however, that the other male would react, at all. Reacting meant possibly exposing himself. 

Any reluctance Harry had felt over believing the wolf was gone, confusion and surprise having replaced his hesitancy. Part of him wanted to confront Malfoy, the other part was unwilling to risk possibly exposing himself in the process. Inhaling deeply, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to appear calm and relaxed. Beside him, the blond shifted, easing deeper into his chair. For the remainder of the class, the pair sat quietly next to each other, cautiously attuned to the other’s movements. 

When Snape finally dismissed the bored group, Harry was one of the first to flee the room, not bothering to wait for Hermione who was gesturing wildly in his direction. His muscles eased as soon as he was free of the room. Nearly sighing at the feeling, he stepped out of the steady flow of students and glanced in the direction of the Potions Classroom, watching for Hermione to appear. He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at the disgruntled look on her face, her displeasure at being ignored obvious. 

“You could have waited for me,” she grumbled, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder. Shooting him a narrow eyed look, she slid a proprietary hand through his arm and proceeded to tow him down the hall, muttering under her breath the entire time. When she was finally forced to slow her hectic pace due to a pack of Hufflepuffs lingering in the corridor, she shot him a look from beneath her lashes, her lips pursed. “Well, how was it?” 

Harry glanced away, avoiding her gaze. “It was okay,” he mumbled, shifting his book bag into a more comfortable position. They reached a narrow section of hallway and he urged Hermione ahead of him, glad she couldn’t see the expression on his face. 

“And Remus? He was there?” She asked, curiousity colouring her voice. 

Harry’s teeth clamped together, his knuckles whitening around the strap of his bag. The wolf growled at the mere mention of Remus’s name, the sound thrumming within his throat. “Don’t say that mangy bastard’s name in my presence again,” he hissed softly, his eyes flashing angrily. 

“Harry,” Hermione gasped, sounding startled and scandalized all at the same time. The witch peeked over her shoulder, stumbling slightly at the deadly gleam in the dark-haired wizard’s eyes. She paled when the orbs flickered, the emerald turning a dark shade of jade. 

Harry shook his head, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his bag. “Leave it alone, Hermione.” He said in a terse whisper, pushing past the witch and climbing up the dungeon’s stairs. He wasn’t ready to talk about Lupin’s betrayal or abandonment, because she wouldn’t understand. She’d make the appropriate excuses, try and pat him on the head and assure him that everything wasn’t as it seemed. But it was, and he knew it. With a frustrated rumble, he lengthened his stride, leaving the witch calling his name in the middle of the main corridor. 

XxXxX 

The Hog’s Head was exactly as Harry remembered it; heavily shadowed and encrusted with filth from the floor to the ceiling. Nose wrinkled in disgust, he scanned the tavern carefully, giving the single pair of patrons a suspicious glance before shifting his gaze to the shady barman leaning against the grime-covered bar. He flinched when the door thumped closed behind him, the thud breaking the heavy silence shrouding the pub. Squaring his shoulders, he prowled deeper into the room, skirting around several of the dirtier tables in favour of one near the back that appeared reasonably clean. He absently adjusted the hood of his cloak as he slid into one of two chairs pulled up to the table, barely avoiding the grimace that threatened to curl his lips when his hand slid through something sticky. 

He’d left Hogwarts under his invisibility cloak, taking one of the secret passages into Hogsmeade and then making his way to the Hog’s Head. The most difficult part of the entire venture had been slipping away from Hermione, who had been sticking close to his side since his blow up on the dungeon stairs. Knowing he looked it, he’d told her he was tired and going back to his room. The excuse had sounded weak even to his ears. With a sigh, he dropped his eyes to the table, realizing he’d owe the witch an apology tomorrow. 

Soft whispers brushed his ears, hints of the resumed conversation occurring between the pair on the opposite side of the tavern. Studiously avoiding the barkeep’s gaze, Harry fingered a shallow groove in the stained wood of the table, idly wondering if the dark smudge to the right of his pinkie was dried blood. The creak of the door’s hinges and a rush of cold air heralded the arrival of another patron, once again bringing silence to the pub. Hands knotting into fists, the dark-haired wizard lifted his gaze and stared at the cloaked individual, his nose twitching as the swirling air brought him the smell of wolf. Swallowing, he straightened, his movement drawing the werewolf’s attention in his direction. 

Fear sent his heart lunging into a frantic gallop, caused his knuckles to whiten where they gripped the edge of the table. Drawing a deep breath, he pushed the fear down and lifted his chin, watching the tall male glide purposefully toward him. Against his will, a warning growl slipped from his mouth, the sound causing the other werewolf to slow his aggressive prowl forward. His nails bit into the table and he inhaled sharply, his nose filling with the smell of wolf and stale beer. By the time the cloaked male arrived at the table, Harry was nearly shaking with his nerves and almost gasping for breath. 

“Get up,” the tall werewolf ordered, staring down at the raven-haired wizard from the cowl of his cloak. He turned his head in the direction of the bar, casting an intense glare at the openly observing barman, the look alone enough to send the grungily dressed wizard stumbling to the opposite side of the room. 

Harry stiffened, not at the order itself but rather the voice that issued it. Mouth falling open, he slowly lifted his chin, peering calculatingly up into the hood of the individual standing over him. His lips moved soundlessly, his eyes narrowing before he shot to his feet, reaching out to seize the other wizard by the front of his cloak. Unfortunately, his hands grasped empty air and he stumbled forward, the tall male easily sidestepping his lurching form. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Hissed the tall werewolf, swinging around to keep the other male in front of him. 

Whirling around, Harry snarled savagely, his hands fisting. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” He snapped back, slapping at the still swinging folds of his cloak to settle the dark fabric. His lips drew back from his teeth, flashing delicately pointed incisors. 

Lifting a single brow, Draco planted a hand on his hip. “You asked for this meeting, didn’t you?” He barked, his mouth twisting into a familiar sneer. The squeal of wood upon wood turned his attention to the duo seated across the tavern, his brows drawing down as he gave a sharp shake of his head. 

“I did!” Harry hissed loudly, curling his hands into fists, “But I thought I was meeting Gr-.” He clamped his teeth together at the blond’s growl of warning, his blazing orbs swiveling to the seated pair silently watching the unfolding drama. Sucking in a calming breath, he shot the other wizard an angry look before stalking toward the door. The cold lash of winter air struck his face as he slammed out into the night, making it no further than six steps before a hand closed around his forearm. His fist was already swinging when he spun around, its trajectory on level with the blond’s chin. 

Malfoy was quicker, however, dodging the punch and ruthlessly shoving the dark-haired wizard to the hardened ground. “Do you honestly think he’d risk getting captured merely for your benefit, Potter? Consider yourself lucky he even agreed to such a dangerous meeting.” Chest rapidly rising and falling, the blond stared down at the other male, his hands clenching and unclenching as a rumbling growl vibrated within his throat. “I was sent to lead you to him. Come with me or stay here, your choice.” That said - or rather growled - Draco turned on his heel and slipped silently into the night, leaving Potter sputtering in the snow. 

Sprawled on his backside, Harry glared up at the stars and silently wondered ‘why him?’. With an unhappy grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and followed Malfoy’s scent through the darkness, internally considering the chance that this was a trap and he was about to die a very bloody and painful death. Ripped apart by a pack of crazed werewolves, he thought, or worse, beaten bloody by Malfoy. Fighting down a shudder, he trailed the blond away from Hogsmeade, slowing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

“Stay close,” Draco murmured, one shadow among many. 

The warning came as a surprise to Harry, the whisper chasing away some of his lingering trepidation. Warily, he moved forward, his eyes darting from left to right, searching for danger among the thick trunks and snow laden branches. “Why you?” He asked finally, the question having been plaguing his thoughts. Overhead, the moon shone brightly, lighting a path only Malfoy seemed to be able to see. His brows drew down at the other wizard’s silence, his mouth opening to repeat the question just as the blond opened his to respond. He closed his in deference to Malfoy, waiting patiently for an answer. 

After a moment of hesitation, Draco responded, his voice sounding oddly rough. “I’m expendable,” he said quietly, a bitter laugh following the simple statement. 

Harry’s eyes widened at the somber declaration. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice emerging as a whisper. If there was one thing Harry had never been, it was expendable. He was always protected and babied, shielded from the worst of the world. Not once had he ever thought of Draco Malfoy as expendable, though. The other wizard was the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune, Harry figured that made him pretty much irreplaceable, but perhaps he’d been wrong. Frowning, he concentrated on placing his feet in the blond’s boot prints. 

Draco didn’t bother acknowledging the apology. Without glancing back to make sure the raven-haired male was still following him, he glided deeper into the forest, winding his way between the trees and deeper banks of snow. They finally reached their destination, a completely insignificant section of forest unremarkable in any way. The only reason the blond was certain he was in the correct place was the scent of Greyback and other members of the pack that lingered in the air and clung to the surrounding pines. “We’re here,” he breathed. 

Harry scanned the wooded area, his nose twitching at the strong smell of wolves. With a nervous look over his shoulder, he circled around Malfoy, heeding the wolf’s whisper for caution. “There’s no one here,” he said in confusion, wondering if this was the part where Malfoy kicked his ass and buried his unconscious body in the nearest snowbank. 

“Are you so sure of that?” Draco asked quietly, turning slowly to the left. A smile curved his lips as he bowed his head, locking his gaze on the ground several inches to the right of the pair of boots that had appeared there. 

The smug purr in the blond’s voice turned Harry’s head, widening his eyes at the tall figure standing shrouded in the shadows. He took an involuntary step backwards and bumped into something, a startled gasp spilling from his mouth as he whirled around. The sight of a second imposing figure standing directly behind him caused a sharp yelp to spill from between his lips, the sound curling the tall male’s mouth into an amused grin. 

“Well done, Draco,” the shadowy figure said in praise, sliding forth from the heavy darkness to stand in a ray of moonlight. In the faint glow, Fenrir Greyback smiled, revealing pointed yellow teeth. A delighted chuckle rolled from his mouth at the expression on Harry’s face, and he exchanged feral grins with the other two werewolves who had slunk into the clearing on his heels. 

Draco bowed his head, acknowledging the words even as he shifted away from Harry. “Thank you, Fenrir,” he whispered, shooting a dirty look at the werewolf flanking the older male. 

“They weren’t followed,” the tall blond standing to the right of Greyback reported, curling a lip at Draco in warning. 

Harry stiffened at the exchange, his eyes narrowing on the new arrivals. A soft sniff told him that he had indeed met the pair before, on two separate occasions. The most recent of which was in the Hog’s Head. It was the second - or more like the first - meeting that caused a growl to rise within his chest. He’d run into these two blond’s in Hogsmeade before Christmas; they’d been escorting the hazel eyed brat who’d bitten him. His attention was forced from the taller male by Fenrir, the werewolf’s voice interrupting his thoughts. 

“Excellent news,” Fenrir Greyback said in a jovial tone, ambling closer to Harry. His gaze swept the young werewolf from the top of his shaggy locks to the dark toes of his winter boots, an absent nod of approval sending matted hair spilling over his forehead. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to finally meet you, Harry Potter, and I can’t even begin to express my happiness at your eagerness to meet me.” 

“I’m not-” Harry began, but he stopped when he realized he didn’t know how to respond. He gave an abrupt shake of his head, glancing in Draco’s direction as if seeking help unraveling the misunderstanding. 

“Oh, I know,” Greyback murmured, circling Harry in a predatory fashion. “They sent you running into my arms - Dumbledore and his precious Order. How extremely unfeeling of them, especially considering the fact Lupin’s been a wolf longer than you’ve been alive. And it was his rejection that hurt the most, didn’t it, Harry? His words that bit like a rabid dog. But how can you expect someone who doesn’t even love themself to love you?” 

Harry blinked at the logic, staring at Greyback with shimmering emerald orbs. His lips moved, but he uttered not a single sound. In his head, the wolf grumbled, but its words were buried beneath Fenrir’s question, the whisper becoming a taunt that looped itself around his mind. How can you expect someone who doesn’t even love themself to love you? 

“But I digress,” Fenrir said, giving a wave of his hand. “What can I do for you, Harry Potter?” 

Swallowing, the dark-haired wizard drew himself up, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin to an arrogant angle. He pushed the voice inside his head down, burying it far beneath the wolf, allowing the animal’s intelligence and ruthlessness to consume him, because that was the only thing that would allow him to carry on this charade. “I want to know what’s in it for me,” he said, “Joining you, I mean.” 

Greyback halted in front of Harry, the smile he wore growing until it encompassed his entire face. “Smart boy,” he said softly, his golden eyes shifting to the heavily cloaked werewolves waiting impatiently in the shadows. “That’s a long discussion, though, one that should be had beyond the reach of any prying ears that might be about. Andrej, Steve, we’re going home. Draco, bring Potter along with you.” Giving the dark-haired wizard a last hard considering look, Fenrir stepped back and then vanished, his silent departure sending a wall of snow washing over Harry. The other two werewolves disappeared in much the same fashion. 

Slowly, Harry turned to face Draco, staring across the short distance between them. He didn’t think he was ready to go home with the crazy werewolf he’d just met. As far as he was concerned, he’d fulfilled his quota of stupid-stuff-to-do for the day several hours ago when he’d slipped out of Hogwarts without telling anyone where he was going. 

“Where’s your Gryffindor courage?” Draco asked softly, his silver eyes glowing eerily in the darkness. 

Harry’s gaze dropped from the blond’s glowing orbs to the hand encased in black leather held tentatively out to him. This was the second time he’d been offered that particular hand; once it had been extended in friendship, and now it was offered again, though the reason behind its appearance was unclear. Drawing a deep breath, he walked forward and slid his fingers into the blond’s. He caught only a glimpse of the other wizard’s smile before the familiar tug of apparition jerked at his navel. 

XxXxX 

Harry landed on his arse in a pile of snow, his fingers slipping through Draco’s. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blond’s amused chuckle as he knocked the clinging flakes from the back of his robes. When he was done, he glanced curiously around, his brow furrowing at finding himself standing in a small clearing in the middle of nowhere. “Where are we?” He asked, breathing deeply of the night air. The inhalation brought him the smell of smoke and wolves, the scent strong enough to stir his own wolf’s interest. 

“Half a mile to the north of the Glen,” Draco stated, pointing in said direction. “We’d best hurry, they’ll be waiting on us now.” He set off on a well-worn path tamped in the snow, heading in the direction of the house shared by Greyback and his pack. Snow began to filter down through the bare branches stretching overhead, the first flakes settling silently upon the earth. 

“Is he really crazy?” Harry asked, more to fill the silence than anything else. Though if anyone ever did ask him, he’d admit to being slightly worried that he’d agreed to meet a mad man about a potential job without first conversing with Hermione, his sometimes conscience. 

Tipping his head back, the blond eyed the dark sky thoughtfully. “Moon Mad,” he finally replied, brushing snow from the shoulders of his cloak. “The closer it gets to the full moon, the more intense and unpredictable he gets. You’ve met him on a good night, though, the night after the full moon. He’s tired now, more tame than usual.” His gaze dropped from the black expanse above to the surrounding forest, his attention returning to the path they followed. He slowed marginally, allowing the dark-haired wizard to draw even with him, eager to see his reaction when he laid his jade orbs on The Wolves Glen. 

Harry eyed Malfoy curiously, growing nervous at the look of anticipation the blond wore. Lights appeared between the trees ahead, the soft glow emanating through the night. They rounded another bend in the path and he halted abruptly, his mouth falling open as his gaze landed on the structure that stood atop a small hill above a narrow expanse of meadow. He swallowed loudly, staring at the decrepit old farmhouse that could hardly be considered standing. There was a gaping hole in the sagging roof and not a single pane of glass in the windows remained unbroken. White paint was faded and chipped, exposing rotting wood that had seen better days. The chimney, or rather what remained of it, leaned away from the house on an angle very similar to that of the front door. What may have once been a cozy front porch now resembled a death trap, the fact it was still standing a miracle in itself. 

A sudden thought struck Harry, perhaps this was a magical house, something like the tent they’d used during the Quidditch World Cup. Merlin’s balls, the dilapidated shack made the Burrow look like an architectural masterpiece. Swallowing again, he hurried to catch up with Malfoy, preferring to follow the blond into the wreck than be forced to wander in alone and inadvertently injure himself while attempting to climb the crooked front steps. He placed one hand on the railing at the bottom of the stairs, releasing it almost immediately when it wobbled within his grasp. 

“Hurry up, Potter,” Malfoy said, though his voice was laced with laughter. Giving a shake of his head, he dragged the front door open and glided inside, leaving the portal wide open as if daring the dark-haired wizard to follow him. 

Standing at the bottom of the steps and pondering his chances of survival, Harry listened to the conversation occurring somewhere within the old farmhouse. 

“He’s weak.” 

“He reeks of Wolfsbane.” 

“He’s dumb.” 

“He’s young.” 

“He’s Harry Potter.” 

That last one was said with a large amount of disdain, enough to make Harry’s lips pull back from his teeth angrily. They were judging him, again, without having met him first. A snarl rolled from his throat. They were just like all the rest, expecting things from him without even having met him. 

Show them, the wolf rumbled, show them who we really are. 

The smile that appeared upon his lips was decidedly malicious, the gleam in his eyes matching it perfectly. Bending his knees, he leapt up onto the porch and prowled into the darkened interior of the house, not knowing who or how many werewolves were inside, but perfectly prepared to show them exactly who they were dealing with. 


	7. An Irrefutable Offer

 

**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling**

**Chapter Seven - An Irrefutable Offer**

The bold and brazen entrance Harry had envisioned died a fast death when he crossed the threshold of the crumbling farmhouse, every instinct he had screaming for him to proceed with the utmost care. Heart pounding furiously in the back of his throat, he halted just inside the doorway, his gaze sweeping the heavily shadowed foyer, searching the darkness for danger. His body tensed at the revealing groan of the floorboards beneath his feet, the very flow of air into his lungs stilling as he waited. The soft murmur of voices faded, the ensuing silence telling. 

Realizing his presence within the dilapidated shack was no longer a secret, he drew a deep breath and took a wary step forward, casting his eyes over the small entrance hall. Directly ahead of him a staircase stretched upwards, its broken and crooked steps leading into the dark abyss above. He lowered his gaze, dismissing the second floor completely, his attention falling to the narrow hall that lay alongside the stairwell. His eyes narrowed on the closed portal that stood at the end of the hallway, the soft glow of candlelight emanating from beneath the door. 

Glancing nervously to the left and right, he tipped his chin and inhaled. Immediately his senses were flooded with the smell of fur and wolf, the scents so strong they caused a rumble to vibrate his chest, the sound echoing in the empty foyer. Inside his skull the wolf stretched, the movement causing the muscles in his back to ripple in reaction, the unfamiliar feeling drawing a surprised gasp from between his lips. 

Pack, the wolf breathed, reveling in the strong smell that was liberally spread throughout the farmhouse. 

Harry tensed at the wolf’s happy croon, his fingers curling as he stared at the portal. While moments ago the urge to crash into the house and assert his dominance had nearly had him foaming at the mouth, the sudden realization that he didn’t know how many individuals were waiting for him had the rush of adrenaline fading. The urge to shift in his uncertainty was strong, but the urge to retain some measure of stealth was stronger, keeping his feet planted firmly upon the dusty boards. 

He lifted his nose and sniffed, attempting to discern exactly how many werewolves were within the room at the end of the corridor, and failing. With the cool winter wind whipping through the cracks in the windows and stirring the air around, there was no way to hone in on the most recent scents. No way for him to tell how many of the werewolves that had passed through the door remained. 

The decision on how he should proceed was ripped from his hands when the closed door was dragged open abruptly, the hinges groaning in protest as light flooded the hallway. Blinking against the sudden brightness, he turned his head and lifted a hand to shield his sensitive eyes, nearly yelping in surprise at finding himself almost nose to nose with Andrej, the first blond from the clearing. He stumbled backwards to put space between them, knocking into something tall and hard and equally living in the process. Again he spun, swinging to face the tall form of the second werewolf from earlier, the male’s pale eyes staring down at him in bored patience. 

“We’re waiting, Harry.” 

Flinching at the melodic purr, the dark-haired wizard turned to face the doorway, ignoring the pair of werewolves that had materialized silently at his elbows. His eyes locked with the amber orbs of Fenrir, a chill creeping up his spine at the strange gleam in the glowing spheres. He swallowed loudly, gritting his teeth at the soft chuckle that escaped the blond to his right, the sound grating on his already strained nerves. Shooting the male a baleful glare, Harry straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, gathering his waning courage before beginning to pace down the narrow hall. His pulse leapt as he drew closer to Fenrir, the wolf within his head falling silent, growing more watchful with every step he took. 

Stepping aside, Fenrir waved Harry in, urging him toward an empty chair at the round table. “Come in,” he said, his tone brisk. “Have a seat.” His gaze followed the younger male across the room, silently judging his reaction to the icy reception he was receiving. 

Muscles tense, Harry walked stiffly across the kitchen, his hands balling into fists as he drew abreast of the small group seated around the table. Movements cautious, he bypassed the only remaining chair in the room, choosing instead to put his back against the wall on the far side of the chamber. Almost immediately he felt safer, the fear of being attacked reduced by the pressure of the wall between his shoulder blades. Folding his arms nervously across his chest, the dark-haired wizard scanned the room quickly, trying to pretend he wasn’t the sole object of several extremely hateful stares. 

Besides the warped floorboards and cracked counter tops, the room boasted few fixtures other than the circular table. A scattering of mismatched chairs were placed about the room, all of them occupied by individuals of a decidedly shady nature. Candles of varying colours and heights flickered gently along the counter, held upright only by the wax gobbed around their bases. Harry’s eyes slowed when they reached Malfoy, taking in the blond’s almost protective position behind the large chair sitting before the cold hearth. Curious at the blond’s posture, he lowered his gaze to the bundle of dirty rags sitting on the faded cushion, his entire body stiffening in surprise. There, curled into a little ball and sleeping like Hagrid’s Fluffy, was the hazel-eyed brat who’d bitten him. 

_Alpha,_ the wolf breathed through his skull. The reverent whisper startled Harry, not because he hadn’t been expecting it, but because his eyes were still focused on the young boy. Shock was a slap in the face, disbelief jerking his wide orbs up to Malfoy’s. He nearly began to shake his head, incredulous at the very thought that a child would be in charge of him. It was the look on Draco’s face that stopped him, had him clenching his hands and shifting his attention to Fenrir Greyback. 

A small smile curling his lips, Fenrir paced toward the fireplace and halted, staring down at the sleeping toddler with eyes that flashed triumphantly. “So, you want to join us?” He questioned finally, the amused drawl drawing chuckles from the quietly observing werewolves. 

Harry stiffened, his nails biting into his palms as he fought down the urge to leap on the nearest male and tear out his throat. “Yes,” he said from between grit teeth. A rumble slid up his throat and spilled over his lips at the wave of snickers that rose in the wake of the confession. Eyes narrowed, he refocused on Fenrir, tamping down the steady stream of growls vibrating his chest. “When will you tell Voldemort?” He may as well of asked Greyback if he was planning on exchanging Valentines with the other Death Eaters this coming February fourteenth. 

“Voldemort? That snake-faced bastard! Thinks he has the right to put me - Fenrir Greyback- on a leash! I’ll show him!-” 

Fenrir’s reaction to the question was completely unexpected, his howl of fury causing Harry to cringe and press back against the wall. Eyes widening at the explosion, the dark-haired male swept a nervous glance around the room, trying to figure out whether or not this was an unusual occurrence. Much to his surprise, the group appeared completely unfazed by the snarling werewolf waving his arms wildly in the center of the kitchen. 

Even as he watched, Andrej and Steve began a whispered conversation, the taller werewolf nodding his head in agreement with something the smaller said. Standing in the corner, Draco ticked something off on his fingers, composing some internal list. Brows drawing down, Harry returned his attention to Fenrir, watching as the crazed werewolf prowled back and forth in the small space and bellowed unhappily. 

“We are not dogs to be called to heel! We are wolves! We should be respected and feared, not forced to grovel before some pathetic excuse for a wizard!” 

It took Harry a moment to figure out what the problem with the entire scene was, and then another to try and grasp the meaning of it. Now, he would never claim to be the smartest wizard at Hogwarts, but he was capable of putting two and two together. And in this case, it was sounding a lot like Fenrir Greyback didn’t really get along with Voldemort. Confusion crowded his mind as his eyes followed the werewolf’s pacing form. Weren’t Voldemort and Greyback supposed to be great buddies? All the rumours he’d ever heard about the pair based their partnership on a mutual dislike of the Ministry of Magic. Yet the rant he was listening to at that second seemed to completely dispel that theory. 

In fact, at this point in time, Harry figured it would be safe to say that the only thing Greyback really did like was the moon - and that was probably an extremely awkward one-sided relationship. The raven-haired male lifted his head when he realized silence had fallen over the kitchen, the only noise the whistle of the wind and the heavy, panting breaths falling from Greyback’s mouth. 

“Papa? What’s the matter?” 

Harry’s gaze flew from Greyback to the chair before the cold hearth, the sparking emeralds landing on the small boy curled upon the cushion. The hazel eyes that haunted his nightmares turned to him, widening as a look of wonderment crossed the child’s pale features. Within his head the wolf stirred, pressed forward, eager to interact with the younger werewolf. “Harry Potter,” the boy breathed, “you came.” 

Practically quivering with his anxiety, Harry stared at the boy, his fingers curling and uncurling. He stiffened when the child slipped liquidly from the chair, tension thickening the air as the younger male approached him eagerly, seeming completely unaware of the tensing of the dark-haired wizard’s body. Although his focus remained on the small boy, he was aware of the precise moment Steve and Andrej peeled away from the far wall, the duo moving quietly forward to flank the child. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” the boy chattered happily, his reddish-brown orbs glittering in the candlelight. “But Draco said you would. He said that Harry Potter would never miss an opportunity to fuck up Voldemort’s carefully laid plans.” 

Harry’s eyes widened, whether it was from the child’s guileless use of the f-word or the fact that Draco Malfoy actually believed he was capable of accomplishing something, it was hard to tell. Swallowing, he darted a quick look at the blond, surprised to see the other wizard’s cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of scarlet. His eyes returned to the young werewolf, surprise causing him to attempt a step backwards at the boy’s unexpected proximity. 

“Draco said you had a hero complex that caused you to do idiotic things,” the boy announced from a mere foot away. He blinked his hazel eyes innocently, peering up at the raven-haired male without a care in the world. To either side of him, Steve and Andrej shifted, inching forward. 

“Jaime!” Draco hissed, his eyes flashing platinum with his anger. He dared a look at Harry, trying to appear aloof when he found the other wizard’s eyes on him. “What did we tell you about repeating gossip?” 

“To only do it if it’s worthy of repeating,” the boy replied promptly, his attention never wavering from Harry. 

Having grown impatient with the exchange, Harry lifted his chin. “Why was I changed then? If not on Voldemort’s orders, than why?” He yelled. The reaction the outraged bellow garnered was unexpected. Chairs crashed to the floor and the rickety table toppled, undoubtedly shoved aside by one of the overeager werewolves charging toward him. He had little time to react, barely managing to clench his fist before he was slammed back against the wall. His head struck the faded wallpaper with such force that the dry wood supporting it snapped. Howling angrily, he kicked and swung mindlessly. 

“Enough.” With one softly spoken word, Fenrir brought order back to the kitchen. His amber orbs glittered dangerously as they swept over the group, taking in their bloody noses and knuckles with a displeased frown. “I bring a guest into our home and this is how you treat him? Like a bunch of rabid squirrels? Get out, the lot of you.” 

From his place on the floor, Harry watched the werewolves slink from the kitchen, their heads hanging guiltily. Gingerly probing his nose, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, leaning back against the crumbling wall as soon as he was standing. He turned his head at a flash of movement, finding Malfoy still standing in his corner, Jaime pressed back against his legs. The wolf cringed within him, its guilt and shame over its thoughtlessness overshadowing Harry’s own emotions. Clamping his lips closed to contain the apology that threatened to spill out, the dark-haired wizard looked to Fenrir for answers. 

Arching a brow, Fenrir flicked his fingers at the kitchen table, the gesture sending Steve and Andrej leaping into action. The pair righted the table and then returned to their former positions without a word. Glowing eyes resting on Harry, the tall werewolf prowled across the narrow kitchen, halting directly in front of the younger male. “I don’t tolerate impudence within my house, whelp.” Greyback growled, his right-hand flashing out and connecting quite firmly with Harry’s left cheek. 

The force of the blow sent Harry back to the ground, a pained gasp escaping his mouth. His eyes watered at the sting from the slap, the sudden pain allowing him to forget his aching nose. “Sorry,” he mumbled, cupping his burning cheek. 

“Pardon?” Fenrir said, leaning forward aggressively. 

Lowering his hand, Harry took a deep breath and repeated the apology. “I’m sorry.” He stiffened in preparation for another blow, another blow that never came. Before he realized what had happened, he found himself standing, Greyback’s hands locked around his biceps. 

“Good boy,” Greyback murmured approvingly, releasing the young wizard and stepping away from him. “Now, what was the question you asked me in such an impolite tone?” 

Eyes focused on the floor, Harry drew a deep breath and then lifted his chin. “Why was I changed?” His hands fisted at his sides, waiting for the explosion that would surely follow the question. 

Slowly releasing Malfoy’s legs, Jaime stepped forward to stand in front of Harry. Appearing much older than he was, he peered solemnly up at the dark-haired wizard, his small hands clasped tightly together before him. After a moment of hesitation, he answered the question in a soft whisper. “To chase away the monsters.” He lowered his gaze immediately after making the confession, not daring to meet the older boy’s glowing orbs. 

“Monsters?” Harry repeated, dumbfounded. His brow drew down as he stared at the top of Jaime’s head, wondering what beast could be so fearsome as to scare a young boy who was doted on by a pack of ferocious werewolves. That thought had him shifting nervously and glancing about the room. The wave of fear that swept through him was only intensified by the fact that the remainder of the pack still assembled in the kitchen refused to meet his eyes, glancing quickly away when his gaze landed on them. They were all afraid, he realized. Slowly, he drew a deep breath and returned his attention to Jaime. “What monsters?” He asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. 

Jaime pressed back against Malfoy’s legs, his small frame vibrating with his anxiety. He ignored the question, pretending he hadn’t heard it as he focused his attention on the way the boards under his feet squeaked when he shifted. The question was repeated twice more before he lifted his gaze, a gentle nudge from behind silently urging him to answer. “The ones in the silver masks,” he admitted in a mumble. 

Harry’s chin flew up at the revelation, his eyes widening. His lips moved around a silent whisper, his gaze unintentionally locking with Malfoy’s. For one long second he stared into those shimmering silver orbs, unable to comprehend the information he’d just been given, and then the blond blinked, breaking the connection. Drawing a deep breath, the dark-haired wizard turned his head, searching out Fenrir. “Death Eaters,” he finally managed, though the name of Voldemort’s servants emerged as more of a croak than an actual word. Heads bobbed in unison, each individual in the room silently signaling that he was correct. 

“Very good,” Fenrir murmured, gazing across the kitchen through eyes veiled by dark lashes. He pushed away from the counter in a liquid movement, flowing across the cracked floorboards with the grace of a dancer - or a hunting wolf. “Death Eaters. And subsequently, their Master: Voldemort. Did you know, Harry, that you’re the thing Death Eater nightmares are made of? They whisper your name fearfully, as if merely speaking of you will bring your wand down upon their heads.” 

Harry shook his head, mute. His eyes followed Fenrir’s pacing form, his mind racing in uncomprehending circles. What did him becoming a werewolf have to do with the bad dreams of Death Eaters? And if not on Voldemort’s orders, why had he been changed? 

“You’re going to win this war, Potter, only it won’t be for Dumbledore and his Ministry. It will be for us: the forgotten ones. The ones respected by none yet used by everyone. All we’ve ever been is tools, but you’re going to change that. With you, the Saviour of the Wizarding World a werewolf, things are going to have to change,” Fenrir purred, his amber orbs flashing victoriously. A wild laugh fell from his mouth and he spun around, gliding across the kitchen toward the window that looked out over the snow-covered meadow. “You’ll kill Voldemort, as originally prophesied. Only the credit won’t go to the wizards, it’ll go to the werewolves.” 

Harry could only gape at Greyback. Without meaning to, he shot a narrow eyed look at Malfoy; he clearly remembered asking the blond if Fenrir was as crazy as rumoured and getting a disparaging remark about ‘moon madness’. Personally, he thought it was probably a little more than an unusual infatuation with the moon. Yep, he figured it was safe to say that Fenrir Greyback was certifiable. 

“Draco, take Harry and return to Hogwarts. I’ll contact you when it’s time for us to meet again.” With nary a wave or a goodbye, Fenrir swept from the kitchen, leaving the group staring silently after him. 

More than a little nervous, Harry shifted, his eyes sliding from the door to the young boy still standing in front of him. He stared down into those glittering hazel orbs, the look in them mirroring the look he’d seen in dozens of other eyes over the past few years - like he held the answers to all their problems. Swallowing, he slid his eyes away, finding Malfoy where he stood before the fireplace, pale eyes cast upward. 

As if sensing his gaze, the blond lowered his chin, his lips pursed and a thoughtful look on his features. “It’s past your bedtime, Jaime,” Draco murmured softly, pushing away from the wall and shooing the child away from Harry. 

“Good-bye, Harry Potter,” Jaime said in a whisper. He glided across the kitchen silently, pausing in the doorway to glance back at the older wizard. “You will come back, won’t you?” 

Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t deny that quiet plea, the wolf in his head already giving its ready agreement to return. Harry managed a small nod of his head in affirmation, the hopeful gleam in the child’s eyes too much to destroy. The wolf nearly crooned at the delighted smile that crossed the boy’s features right before he vanished around the corner. Releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Harry looked at Malfoy, wondering what would happen next. 

“Come,” Draco murmured quietly, leading the way from the kitchen and down the darkened hall. Harry trailed Malfoy from the house, nearly putting a foot through the bottom step as he glanced back over his shoulder. The blond’s soft chuckle narrowed his eyes and dragged his head around, an answering rumble rising in his throat. He swallowed the growl when the blond peered back at him with interest, flashing teeth and eyes that glittered with promise. Still feeling slightly bruised from the pounding he’d taken earlier, the dark-haired wizard dropped his gaze and glowered at the toes of his boots, following along silently behind the blond. 

Together, the pair moved quietly down the narrow trail carved out between the trees. Clouds passed across the moon, casting the forest in darkness, erasing the path from sight. Snow began to filter down between the branches, whispering softly as it landed. Squinting in an effort to see the unfamiliar trail, Harry drew closer to Malfoy, earning a quirked brow in response. 

Flushing lightly, Harry scanned the surrounding forest, searching for movement among the trees. “So, Malfoy,” he said into the uncomfortable silence. “What made you decide to join Greyback?” The blond flinched noticeably at the question, his shoulders tensing and an expressionless mask sliding across his features 

Draco lengthened his stride in an effort to put distance between them, attempting to suppress the shudder that rode him. He was unable to stop himself from scanning the shadows nervously, his hands curling into fists within his pockets. Exhaling slowly, he forced himself to relax, rolling his shoulders and unclenching his fingers. His eyes lifted to the sky, locking on the slip of moon left visible between the dark clouds. Potter would, in time, hear the story of how Draco Malfoy had joined Greyback’s pack, he reasoned. Better it be from a reliable source rather than one of the lowly gossip-loving mutts back at the farmhouse, he thought. Lowering his gaze, he slowed his pace, allowing the dark-haired wizard to draw even with him. “It was a Saturday night in October,” he began, “When I was made an irrefutable offer.” 

XxXxX 

Draco slipped between the heavy velvet drapes separating the ballroom from the garden terrace, his boots tapping quietly on the paving stones. Immediately, the loud hum of voices faded, replaced by the soothing chirp of crickets. He drew a deep breath and tipped his face up to the night sky, staring at the stars glittering upon the black expanse above. The ache that had been growing behind his right temple began to wane, the cool night air chasing the flush from his cheeks. 

With a relieved sigh, he dropped his elbows to the stone banister that circled the balcony, enjoying the peace and solitude of the night. Absently, he lifted his hands to the silver tie that collared him, loosening the silk with several light tugs, freeing himself momentarily from the image he was expected to project to the assembled Death Eaters. A short reprieve he was in desperate need of, he thought with a grimace. The judging eyes and acidic tongues of the older Death Eaters were beginning to get to him, their silver coated criticisms tightening his muscles and bringing a cold sweat to his skin. 

Staring out at the shadow shrouded garden, he slid a hand into the inner pocket of his dress robes and withdrew the flask that rested against his breastbone. He idly traced the winding pattern engraved into the metal, his fingers stilling when they reached the cap. With a delicate twist of his digits, he freed the stopper, his lips curving as the heady smell of premium Fire Whiskey brushed his nose. Closing his eyes, he raised the flask and swallowed deeply, welcoming the slow burn that rose in the whiskey’s wake. 

“Care to share, Malfoy?” 

Draco’s silver orbs flew open at the raspy voice, his hand tightening around the flask. Slowly, he turned to face the intruder, capping the flask and sliding it away even as he stared into a pair of golden spheres that glittered unnaturally. “My, Greyback, you’re looking frighteningly . . . sane this evening,” he purred, his fingers curling around his wand as they exited his pocket. 

“Hah,” the grizzled werewolf replied, slipping free of the shadows, “You know how deceiving appearances can be.” 

“Indeed,” Draco murmured, his eyes flicking nervously in the direction of the velvet draped doorway. He silently pondered his chances of reaching the safety of the ballroom before Greyback went into one of the rages he was so well known for, his focus snapping back to the werewolf when he began a liquid glide across the terrace. The first tendrils of true fear uncurled within his stomach when Greyback circled around him, placing himself quite pointedly in front of the only safe exit off the terrace. Raising his wand in warning, Draco took a calming breath and leaned back against the banister, attempting to present the image of bored nonchalance. “I didn’t realize you’d been invited to this particular event.” 

Giving the younger wizard a toothy grin, Greyback replied, “Oh, I wasn’t.” His amber orbs dropped to the wand the blond held before him, an amused smile twisting his lips. “Afraid of something, Malfoy?” 

“Of course not,” Draco snapped, gritting his teeth when Greyback’s grin grew and he tapped the side of his nose knowingly. 

“That’s good, especially since we’re all on the same side. All of us faithfully serving Lord Voldemort.” Fenrir murmured, the slightest hint of what could have been sarcasm slipping into the words. He tipped his head to the side as he studied the blond, seemingly searching for something. 

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Greyback, but I can assure you-” 

A sharp snarl interrupted Draco’s retort, the sound causing him to flinch. As his eyes darted over the werewolf’s shoulder and his heart leapt into a frantic gallop, he internally debated whether or not he was too proud to scream for help. Unfortunately, Greyback was quicker. 

Encircling the blond’s throat with one large hand and grasping his right wrist with the other, Fenrir pressed the young wizard back against the stone banister, slowly tightening his grip. He smiled down into Draco’s reddening face, watching the blond gasp for breath, enjoying the interwoven smells of fear and pain wafting from the pale skin. “I could kill you right now,” he breathed, “And not a single individual within that room would care. Well, your parent’s might - but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” Greyback chortled at his own joke and then released the younger wizard carelessly, watching him sink to the flagstones. 

Draco inhaled greedily, filling his burning lungs with desperately needed air. He stared longingly in the direction of the doorway, praying for someone - anyone- to walk through the velvet curtains. Greyback shifted casually before him, the movement causing him to flinch unconsciously, pressing closer against the stone columns of the railing. Wide eyes locked on the werewolf, he began a cautious search for his wand, smoothing his hands slowly across the paving stones beneath him. 

“Unlike your doting parents, Draco, I take care of my children. Protect them from the things that go bump in the night. Shield them from that which would seek to harm them.” Staring down at the blond’s bowed head, Greyback’s expression softened, the cruel light leaving his shimmering orbs. “Which is why I came looking for you. You see, I’m about to make a serious . . . investment, shall we say, in my family’s future. Unfortunately, due to certain restrictions, I’ll be unable to properly monitor my investment. And considering the volatile nature of this investment, I find that highly unacceptable.” 

Brow furrowing, Draco lifted his chin, staring at Greyback curiously. His fingers slowed their frantic search, stilling upon the cold flagstones. “What are you talking about?” He rasped, raising a hand to his bruised throat. 

Taking a small step away from the blond’s crouched form, Greyback met the cautious silver eyes peering up at him, a humourless smile curving his mouth. “I’m about to make you an offer, Draco Malfoy. You see, you’re in a perfect position to keep an eye on my investment for me. I, in turn, will provide you with a loving family and the complete protection of my pack.” Tipping his head back, the werewolf gazed thoughtfully at the moon, a loving expression transforming his face as a wolf bayed softly in the distance. “Let’s face it, Malfoy, this little . . . gala is nothing more than a sacrificial ceremony presenting you to the Dark Lord as new Death Eater fodder. You’ll become nothing more than a tool. One which is easily broken and quickly discarded, might I add.” 

Licking his lips, Draco shot a nervous glance in the direction of the doorway, internally wondering if this was some sort of test. It did sound too good; an easy escape from the life he was being forced into A life he wanted nothing to do with. “I don’t understand,” he breathed, staring up at Greyback. 

“With your complete agreement, you’ll be Bitten, changing that pure blood flowing through your veins into something like nothing else. You’ll become a member of my pack: a werewolf.” Greyback shifted suddenly, his head snapping around and his eyes narrowing on the slightly swaying curtains. He spun around and took two quick steps, closing the distance he’d put between himself and Draco. “If you want to accept, you’ll be at this address the night of the next full moon.” Shoving a small card into the blond’s shaking hand, Fenrir vaulted over the railing, dropping down into the darkened garden and vanishing. 

Draco stared intently at the narrow slip of parchment in his hand, flinching when someone called his name from several feet away. His fingers closed around the scrap of paper, crumpling it into a little ball as his eyes darted upwards to meet the narrowed orbs of his father. Swallowing, he pushed himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving those of the wizard before him. “I was just taking a moment to catch my breath,” he said quietly. 

“Really,” Lucius Malfoy drawled, his eyes scanning the terrace in a disbelieving fashion. Pursing his lips, he returned his attention to Draco, frowning at his son’s dangling tie and crumpled robes. “Straighten your robes and get back inside. Lord Voldemort is asking after you and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Shooting his son one last disapproving glare, Lucius whirled around and prowled back into the ballroom. 

Releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Draco leaned back against the railing and closed his eyes. He attempted to slow his racing heart and calm his breathing. He opened his eyes several seconds later, straightening the silver tie and then smoothing his hands down his chest, pausing when he realized he still held the crumpled up piece of parchment in the palm of his hand. Glancing in the direction of the doorway, he carefully smoothed its edges, staring at the address scrawled across the stained parchment. He raised his gaze to the curtains tauntingly swaying before him, his fingers neatly folding the paper and sliding it into his pocket. Drawing a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and glided through the drapes, pushing the conversation into the depths of his mind for later dissection. 

XxXxX 

“And here we are,” Draco finished, halting and turning to stare at Harry. “Me watching you, guarding Greyback’s investment as it were.” He glanced away from the gaping wizard, realizing they’d reached the point where they could safely apparate back to Hogwarts. Sweeping the surrounding forest with cautious eyes, he extended a hand toward the other werewolf. 

“You knew Greyback was going to change me and you did nothing about it?” Harry sputtered, stomping to a halt directly in front of the blond. In the faint moonlight, the other werewolf’s eyes shimmered platinum, the glittering eyes narrowing at his tone. He stiffened at the growl of warning that vibrated Malfoy’s chest, an answering snarl spilling over his lips. 

Curling a lip, Draco glared at the dark-haired wizard, wiggling his fingers impatiently. “The offer was practically impossible to deny, Potter. And frankly, in my opinion, me remaining Dark Mark free greatly outweighed your continued existence as a weak blooded wizard.” 

“Not to me it didn’t!” Harry snapped, reaching out to slap away Malfoy’s extended hand. 

With a lightening quick movement, Draco locked his fingers around Harry’s wrist, apparating them back to the Forbidden Forest with a single thought. He released the other wizard on arrival, watching him stumble on the uneven path and nearly land on his face in the snow. “Calm down, Harry,” he said quietly, turning around and peering in the direction of Hogsmeade. His ears picked up the dark-haired wizard’s frustrated huff, the corner of his mouth hitching upwards in amusement. “We need to get back to the castle before someone notices we’re missing.” 

“You’re such a git,” Harry hissed, catching his balance and whirling around. He glared angrily at the blond’s back, hands balled into fists at his sides. 

Glancing back at the dark-haired wizard, Draco gave a delicate lift of his shoulders, seeming completely unmoved by the insult. “Your circumstances have changed, Harry, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re a werewolf now, so live with it . . . or don’t.” That said, the blond trudged through the snow toward Hogsmeade, slipping quietly between the trees. He was dimly aware of Potter stomping along behind him, the other male cursing and snarling softly beneath his breath. Stopping just inside the tree line, Draco stared at the darkened village, internally wishing he was already back at Hogwarts curled up within his warm bed. Harry appeared in his peripheral vision and paused there, shadowed eyes studying Hogsmeade, his expression unreadable. 

“Gift? Or Curse? Is that how you choose to see it, Malfoy?” Harry asked somberly. Snow sifted down through the branches of the tree he stood beneath, the cold flakes unerringly finding the back of his exposed neck. He reached back and dusted the flakes away, his gaze never leaving the sleeping hamlet. 

Certain that they were alone, Malfoy stepped free of the forest and turned in the direction of Hogwarts, flipping the hood of his cloak up to hide his face. Gift, he internally scoffed. What kind of gift got you thrown from your home? Got you disowned and disinherited? All done very quietly, of course. So quietly in fact that the whispers had yet to reach Hogwarts of Lucius Malfoy’s decision or the reason thereof. He turned his head and glared at Harry, the memories still too fresh to share, especially with someone like Perfect Potter. “I see it like it is,” he growled, eyes flashing. He jerked his gaze back to the road that led to Hogwarts, drawing ahead of Harry in hopes of staving off any further discussion. 

Harry rolled his eyes at the blond’s sudden mood swing. He allowed Malfoy to draw ahead of him, aiming a kick at the snow alongside the road, sending a small flurry of white arcing into the night sky. How could anyone see this as a gift, he wondered, falling farther behind the other wizard. True, he could heal any wound inflicted upon him. And the added strength was a definite bonus. But the whole losing control under the full moon thing was a major turnoff. Pursing his lips, he turned his eyes in Malfoy’s direction, noting the blond’s sudden change of pace. Brow furrowing, he lengthened his stride and swept the shadows with cautiously. 

“What is-” He snapped his mouth closed when Draco lifted a hand in warning. Halting alongside the blond, he glanced quickly at the other wizard’s face, recognizing the predatory expression on the normally aristocratic features. Tension gripping him, he swept the shadows warily, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. A familiar smell teased his nose, turning him slowly toward the path’s edge. The soft crunch of snow whipped his head around, his flashing orbs finding Remus in the darkness. A surprised snarl was ripped free of his mouth, the sound echoed by Malfoy. “Remus,” he stated through grit teeth, barely sparing Draco a glance as the blond drew abreast of him. 

“Harry,” Remus returned quietly, his gaze darting back and forth between the odd pair. “And Draco Malfoy.” His hands balled into fists at the implication of their combined presence, the feeling enough to set his teeth on edge. He took a step forward and then froze, his nose twitching almost violently and his eyes widening. Malfoy was a werewolf. It was in the blond’s scent; in the unnatural glitter of his gray eyes. 

“Former Professor Lupin,” Draco purred, “How nice to see you again.” He could easily have said more, thrown fuel on the proverbial fire, but he held his tongue. Instead, he shifted slightly, taking one small step backwards, placing Harry firmly in the dominant position. 

Eyes slitting on the blond, Remus returned his attention to Harry, staring at the younger wizard with a hopelessness that was fast turning to dread. “You weren’t in your room. Nor were you in the library. In fact, you weren’t in the castle at all.” Holding the dark-haired wizard’s gaze, he lifted a hand, displaying the stained and wrinkled Marauder’s Map. 

“You went through my things?” Harry growled, hackles rising. He took a predatory step forward, consciously aware of Draco’s form moving alongside him. While he may have appeared extremely pissed off to the casual observer, inside he was crying at yet another betrayal heaped upon his head by his former friend and mentor. The last one, he thought grimly, knuckles cracking as he fisted his hands. 

Remus retreated several steps, eyes locked on the pair prowling toward him. Alone, either of the duo could do severe damage, but together, they presented a threat he was unwilling to face. “On Dumbledore’s orders,” he said briskly, defending his actions while using the statement to distract from the fact he was pulling his wand free of his heavy winter cloak. “Now, I’m going to ask you both very nicely to accompany me back to Hogwarts.” He held his breath as he raised his wand, not knowing how the order would be received. 

The pair halted their forward prowl at the wand’s appearance. Neither said a word for several seconds, both staring at Remus and his wand before glancing at each other. Finally, Harry gave a barely perceptible nod and took a small step backwards, clearly giving Malfoy permission to act as the spokesperson for the duo. 

Draco turned glittering orbs on the older wizard, taking in his position and scent before calmly arching a brow. “It obviously escaped your notice, Lupin, but we were already heading in that direction,” he drawled sarcastically, slipping a hand under Harry’s arm and giving him a light shove. Lupin was afraid, it was easily discernible in his smell and the slight waver in his voice when he spoke. 

Curling a lip at the insolent tone, Remus flicked his wand in the direction of Hogwarts, urging the pair onward. “That may be so, Mister Malfoy, but I doubt your final destination was going to be the Headmaster’s office.” He nearly heaved a relieved sigh when Harry and Malfoy resumed their course. 

Side by side, Harry and Draco walked toward the castle glowing in the distance, very much aware of the wizard following along behind them. They exchanged a sidelong glance, each realizing that they’d have their own part to play in the coming meeting, and not knowing exactly what that part would be. The only thing they were certain of - it was time to choose a side. 


End file.
